New Looks and Takes and Makovers

Some times the same old thing, be it a species or class or type of magic, just does not have that old spark. That is what these threads are about. They are re-imagined versions of the classics. An attempt to make them interesting and useful again.

Some times the same old thing, be it a species or class or type of magic, just does not have that old spark. That is what these threads are about. They are re-imagined versions of the classics. An attempt to make them interesting and useful again.

The catch is, to properly re-imagine something, you need to boil it down to its essence. You need to figure out the traits that define the species, archetype (class/ profession), or system. Once you have defined those, you can flesh them out into new directions.

Lets Take Dwarf. When you boil it down, “Dwarfness” comes to shorter/ small people, who live underground, who have a strong warrior and craft tradition. Now you can build it up from there.

Once upon a time, Siren no Orakio created a an exotic lifeform, and the similarity to the concept of elementals was striking. And so was initiated a discussion titled "Elemental as Life Forms", most of which you will find in the scrolls below. (Note that newer submissions may have overshadowed these ideas by far.)

This Codex serves a larger purpose - it collects the alternative looks on creatures of the elemental kind. For games of a more scientific bent, it can prove useful to have such a lifeform at hand, strange but believable in its context, without referring to anything magical, other planes of existence, and so on. The supernatural realms will surely have similar creatures, be they made of magic itself or just fantastically ‘natural’. For more fun, you could even pretend, that one explanation is valid, while another is true in fact!

What follows is an passage from the journal of reknowned, and deceased Beastiographer Laans Torier

“Many have said the Old Men of the mountain were mere myths, or had been wiped out by the Theosians many years ago, but I am staking my reputation on the fact that they do in fact still exist!”

Three months later, the narration continues

“The Garons’ Teeth are quite the inhospitable mountain range! Although the individual peaks are not terribly high, the entire range is pushed up high above sea level, so the tops of the mountains are inaccessible due to the Toxicity of the Air. (Editors note - Laan was operating under the mistaken belief, the norm at the time of writing, that air became more toxic as one increased in altitude. Alchemical studies have shown this not to be the case, but in fact due to a reduced concentration of elemental Fire…) Except for short months in the middle of summer, even the valleys are snowbound and few navigatible passes exist at the best of times.

It did not help us that owing to the current ‘political instability’ in Theos, we had to enter the mountain range from the least passible side - the southern edge of the kingdom of Seradard. It cost us a kings ransom to secure passage to the mountains, and then another in equipment, provisions, and mystical assistance to make progress through them.

Two hellish weeks - if one considers hell cold - passed before we had our first and only break. We found what appeared to be a ruined settlement of some kind. Now based on all histories that I’ve consulted, there has never been a human habitation in this region, so we investigated in detail.

The wind apparently had recently scoured the snow from the site, for it was well preserved. Old charred timbers and piled stones showed where primitive houses once stood. One structure stood apart from them all and we moved in closer to examine it. It was definitely the site of a major battle, for even now the stubs of old arrows and crossbow bolts stuck out from the wood. What followed next I would carry with me for the rest of my days..

Underneath the rubble we saw what appeared to be a large furry being pinned beneath an especially large timber. It was obviously dead - frozen sold. We had found one! One of the Asrok! And from what appeared to be ornate marks dyed into its fur, possibly one of high station! We hurried to clear the debris and take a closer look.

Alas, hindsight being what it is we should have been more careful. Though this Asrok had died many years ago, his hatred had not. Just before we finished with the last large beam, there was an odd sound - frozen flesh yielding - and suddenly the beam was swung with terrible force. Two of the hired Seradardian guides who were helping us with the process where hit by the beam and were dashed hard against nearby stone, the crunching of their bones clearly audible. In a panic we all scattered from the site as the newly risen Asrok corpse took to its feet. It dropped the bloody beam and began to advance on us. It was well that we scattered, for its speed on the snow had to be seen to be believed. Where we had struggled through the deep snow, its own feet barely imprinted it and though slow, he was still faster then us.

Two more of my party plus another of the unfortunate guides fell to the corpse before the remainder of our expedition got clear. In our hurry we had left our beasts of burden so we were ill equipped for the journey back. However, our fear of the arisen Asrok was an excellent slave driver, and we managed to escape those fell mountains with our lives…”

Overview

A species of white-furred, nearly-human primates who called the Garen’s Teeth mountain range home. Sages speculate that they originally ranged far further, but human encroachment drove them into the mountains. The species seems to have a special tie to the element of fire that allowed them to live easily in even the coldest of regions.

To most observers, the Asrok appear as tall, white-furred lanky apes. The typical Asrok averages 6’5” in height and 220 lbs in weight. They have strongly sloping foreheads and prominent jaws. Their canine teeth are larger then those of humans or Alun and they share the greater number of molars that typify the Alun. Their bodies are covered by a heavy white fur. The Asrok are much are stronger then humans - more then double weight for weight. Their intelligence is inferior to both human and Alun, some suspect this is due to severe inbreeding that occurred early on in their development as a species.

The Asrok as a race is about the same age as man and are the descendants of an isolated population of Alun and are currently the only known such descendant group.

In the World of Neyathis (still very much under development) where this race is initially envisioned, Humanity and most ‘traditional’ fantasy races are relatively recent colonizers and did not evolve on this world. In a more earth-like worlds without mystical creation, the Asrok and the others related to them could easily be offshoots of human ancestors.

Society

The Asrok are a stone-age society organized into extended family groups or clans, with shamans, if any, serving as the chief authorities. In absence of shamans, they tend to be very disorganized. They are primarily hunters, eating what few creatures call the mountains home including mountain goats, rodents and some birds. They also eat lichens and occasionally descend into warmer climates to scavenge for food.

The Asrok are a very task-oriented people with little art to speak of - all of their material artifacts are generally their dwellings, rough stone tools and weapons. None of these bear any adornment or finishing beyond that needed to accomplish the necessary function.

They do, however, have one striking art form. The Asrok are wonderful singers and they generally will sing when doing virtually any task except battle. All of their knowledge is passed through the generations via song. In their heyday, the mountains rang with their baritone voices.

Language

The Asrok have quite advanced vocal apparatus and they are quite capable of learning languages above and beyond their own. The Asrok langauge is unusually complex and is nearly as complete as most human languages.

Magic

The Asrok are an inherently magical race, much more so then mankind or even their Alun ancestors. They draw upon the element of fire enough that with the assistance of their fur, they derive no discomfort from the cold of the mountains. Similarly, they bear a subtle but powerful enchantment which allows them to tread upon snow as if it were hard-packed earth, or slide upon it as if skiing. Apart from these abilities, only their shamans are able to draw upon magic forces more directly.

Whether in pencil-and-paper, or on the computer (Baldur’s Gate, Icewind Dale), we’ve been plagued by the gnome stereotype of foolish inventor and chaotic law-infringing businessman. I guess it’s time to change that. I’ve decided to throw a bone: help me make the gnomes a race worth featuring in an RPG.

Whether in pencil-and-paper, or on the computer (Baldur’s Gate, Icewind Dale), we’ve been plagued by the gnome stereotype of foolish inventor and chaotic law-infringing businessman.

I guess it’s time to change that - after a brief dicussion yesterday (Cabal of Bob, anyone?), I’ve decided to throw a bone: help me make the gnomes a race worth featuring in an RPG.

Long have the Hyrnan, vile masters of the land of Athas, ruled through terror and tyranny. Theirs was an eternal life, and prowess beyond mortal ken, both that of the warrior and the warlock. While graced with ethereal elfin beauty and fae magic, theirs were the wings and talons of dragons, and so was a dragon’s temper and greed.

Their magics worked flesh like a potter works clay, and thus gave birth to the giants, stalwart and strong, to serve as an iron fist, to the dwarves, enduring and tireless, to serve showel and pick, and the Gnomes, called the Zastur, to serve as eye, whip, mouth and a wizard’s stave.
Delighting in the role their masters gave them, they oversaw the slaves , crafted tools, weapons and artwork for them, and aided the in their great magics,conjuring abyssal horrors and forging unholy life of metal, pus and darkness itself.

Then, the Reckoning came: the dwarves and giants incited a revolt, having called aid from overseas - over the northern ice and eastern sea, legions of humans came, and besieged the Hyrnan castles, while from within, dwarves and giants, having plundered the armories, threw the gates open, and assailed their masters.
The other subjugated people also came to their aid, and thus, the Age of Terror ended.

Seeing their masters fall, the Zastur boarded the flying ships and floating cities, knowing that to do their masters’ bidding, they must be alive. The Hyrnan, too proud to yield, fell all - their flaming blades quenched by the blood of those they slew, their ancient armours pounded into dust by the very hammers that forged them, their eternal beauty stomped into dust by the heels of those who once covered at THEIR heels.

The Zastur swore revenge for being chased out of something they considered paradise, and fled, knowing that their time would come.

For one unfamiliar with their background, the Zastur (singular: Zastu) do not seem too intimidating - podgy midgets perhaps four feet tall, with really hairy heads - most Zastur grow a mane of wild hair despite it being decimated over and over again by failed alchemical experiments swiftly.

The men also grow beards. Their hair, as well as eyes, often show freakish colours, like a vivid red, or blazing orange.

Their eyes, ears and noses are comparatively large, and very sensitive. Their senses are complemented by large antennae on their foreheads, meant to be able to spy for their masters better.

With all fingers opposable and an extra digit on each of them, their hands are truly very nimble.
They are surprisingly resilient for their size.
Now, the Zastur are convinced of their own importance, and will wear clothes meant to compensate for their small size, like flowing capes, tall hats adorned with gems and metals, ornate armor and phallic symbols of all types, like wizardly staves taller than themselves, huge weapons with extra spikes added (constructed of lighter materials as to be weildy) and mighty scepters. All this will be complemented by the biggest magical halo the Zastur can manage - a burning aura and lights orbiting him are seen the same way as we see a nice tie and good perfume.

Being very pompous, they will be accompanied by their allies, and sycophants, who, while not speaking when their master does, will nod and murmur in agreement and generally add weight to his arguments.

Their society is organized into cabals united by two facts - their trade and their deceased master. So, alchemists, necromancers and summoners will have their own cabals, as machinists and biomancers - those will be subsections of of a dead Hyrnan’s following. So, the “Cabal of Behtevet the Night-Born Soul-Flayer” will feature gnomes of all trades, who will be in various subsections, distinguished by titles, medals and various insignia - Zastur heraldry is about as complex as Chinese writing.
Most cabals will have a central focus mirroring their master’s main interest in his lifetime. The Cabal of Mosgaron the Dystopic Blood-Forged Hell-Stone might be excellent at making golems, while the Cabal of Helshiraz Atrocious Immolator of Untainted Hearts” might be the best battlemages around.

The individual Zastu of lesser position is genrally repressed a lot, so he will seek releases either in venting it on those below him, or through art, or rather: developing a new way to harm the ‘Infidels’, those who have cast their masters from the throne. Or a way to bring himself to the top. The different cabals concur much like megacorporations might - on the market, as well as through pawns, spionage and the like - there might even be independent shadowrunners

The actions of a cabal are guided by a council, much like a board of directors, with say an archmage, the general, the head alchemist and an economist. Another source of input is the Head Spiritspeaker, who tries to contact their dead master through ritual, drugs or sacrifice, and learn of his intentions.

As for bringing their rulers back from the dead (even if they could), their opinions are varied - while it is true that under the protection of the Hyrnan they had little to fear, now they are their own masters, no longer subject to every whim of their lord, so being hanged for having dirty shoes is no longer an option. The most dedicated cabals will still strive to seek a way, while many more are just glad there is no great god-ruler and they are free to do as they will. Perhaps, one day, they will rule all the people of Athas insted of some stupid dragon/fairy/dark jedi bastard. But ... just in case he comes back, they will polish his statue and build a few more.

Because they have insufficient numbers due to the heavy losses they suffered, their rather low birth rate and the many disfigurements their heavy industy and unheathy living conditions cause, they cannot dare to assault the ‘rebels’ directly, so they resort to slave raids, sabotage and intrigue. This has earned them the name ‘Blighters’ amongst the folk of Athas. Indeed, their greed and appetite for slaves is great, meant to fuel their unholy experiments and machinery. As well as that, a Zastu does not know such a thing as modesty and will try to indulge himself is as much splendor and wealth as possible, of course unless he is one of those absorbed too deply in his science.

In Locastus, City of Mirrors, the Deaders are a valuable commodity. In fact, the very foundation on which the Locastrian economy is built is the cheap, uncomplaining laborers and soldiers provided by using a very abundant source - the city´s own dead. Bands of these silent, shambling figures are visible all over the city, usually under the command of a (living) human foreman, doing roadwork, sweeping the streets, cleaning the sewers or unloading ships in the harbour. The vast, cathedral-like lumber mills, tanneries and forges of the City´s industrial districts are powered primarily by these automaton-like abdead, working day and night. Militarized versions guard public buildings and patrol military installations with great vigilance and unbreakable loyalty. The rich use the more refined versions as couriers and bodyguards. The dead of the city´s poor and its executed criminals are taken by the wagonload to the necrologic production plants to be turned into unthinking, unquestioning workers. These are the silent downtrodden masses of Utopia. These are the Deaders.

Deader physiology

Deaders (as they usually are created from human corpses) are humanoid, but covered in a thick layer of an asphalt-like substance. For aesthetic reasons, the bitumen is usually thickly applied on the face area, leaving their features blunt, anonymous and dehumanized. They smell faintly of tar and weird alchemy, but never (unless incorrectly cured) of decomposing flesh. The matte-black protective asphalt is inscribed with glowing Power Sigils, stamped deeply into the tough, resin-like surface. The design and placement of these animating glyphs may vary from manufacturer to manufacturer, but their numbers and sophistication are always a good indication of the Deader´s intended purpose. While military Deaders are usually dressed in some kind of uniform (sometimes with armor permanently affixed to their bodies) and kept clean and presentable, street-working Deaders are not uncommonly covered in gang-sign graffiti or otherwise vandalized by the city´s street kids. Missing fingers, toes or whole limbs is not uncommon a Deader is not repaired unless its damage prevents it from doing its job. Even though Deaders are quite durable, older specimens usually sport numerous repairs, where tissue has been roughly stitched together and daubed with fresh asphalt. Unless an injury affects the structural integrity of a Power Sigil, a Deader can continue to function indefinitely. The common worker Deader - the most abundant type - is usually unclothed, barring tool belts and other items it might need for the task at hand.

The creation of a Deader

The first item needed to create a Deader (obviously) is a reasonably fresh corpse that has not yet started to decompose. The process starts with the corpse being drained of bodily fluids and cut open, whereupon the viscera, genitalia and eyes are removed. The cranium is opened, and the brain, medulla and spinal cord removed. Usually all orifices are sewn shut or plugged with wax. Once this grisly business is finished the body is marinated for several weeks inside a rune-carved glass-and iron tank through which a fluorescent green alchemical cocktail is circulated. The strange fluid preserves the muscles and skeletal structures, and a puissant current is run through the tank, galvanizing the dead tissue back into a semblance of life. Once the alchemical processes have run their course, the Deader is removed from the tank and coated in a sticky black asphalt to protect it from the elements and to further preserve the tissues. The body is then inscribed with the mystical, glowing Power Sigils that provide locomotive and intellectual power, enhance performance and inhibit decomposition.

Deader Psychology

Depending on the sophistication and number of the Power Sigils on its body, a Deader can be more or less intelligent. Deaders tailored to perform simple tasks (factory worker, cleaner, toxic waste handler etc.) are no more intelligent than a simple insect. Their actions are dictated by a handful of simple response/action cues, and they have only a few, primitive Sigils on their bitumen skin. More complex tasks (military Deaders, personal servants, couriers etc.) with capacity for simple threat/response analysis, inductive/deductive response capability and so on demands more sophisticated and numerous Sigils. The most advanced military models (that are covered from head to toe in brightly glowing, incredibly intricate Sigils) are even able to act as officers for other, lesser Deaders, although even these are without true self-awareness. The level of sophistication of Power Sigils that are allowed on a Deader is strictly regulated by the Guild of Sigil Scribers to prevent Deaders from gaining true sentience. Other edicts prevent Deaders from being equipped with any form of vocal communication, or indeed any form of response other than following orders. One can assume that military research has delved into the possibility of creating a truly self-aware Deader, but if so, the outcome remains unknown to the general public.

Deader Senses

A Deader perceives the world though the resonance its puissant emanations cause with the surrounding world, almost like a sort of magical echolocation. The magical output of a Deader is determined by the power invested in its Sigils, which in turn determines its perceptional acuity. Even though a Deader is effectively deaf and blind, its powerful interferometry cannot be fooled by camouflage, darkness or spells of invisibility.

Controlling a Deader

The rudimentary sentence residing in the interconnected Power Sigils on the Deader´s body can be manipulated by anyone with any level of psionic Talent. For people without such capabilities, there are controlling devices (usually a ring with green crystal stone) that enhances their mental acuity to the point of where the Deader´s puissant field can be manipulated at a thought. The level of autonomy of a Deader varies, but usually leaves enough marginal for the Deader to do its task efficiently, as well as to avoid hurting others or itself. Military-grade Deaders are of course allowed a greater autonomy, but are keyed to only obey orders from the correct command structure. They are always protected from unauthorized access by incredibly tough firewall spells. Even so, there are stories of powerful psionists hacking into military Deaders to circumvent security and to cause mischief.

Destroying a Deader

As mentioned above, a Deader is hard to damage. The only sure-fire way of destroying one is to target its animating Sigils. A Deader with a damaged Sigil will slow down, become clumsier and less intelligent. This effect accumulates as more and more glyphs are destroyed. An irreversibly damaged Sigil will release its stored puissance in a bright flash, throwing red-hot sparks, and, if the glyph was especially powerful, a small lightning bolt. A Deader with too many Sigils destroyed to remain active will become inanimate, burst into flames or explode. Military models, although this remain unsubstantiated, seems to have a self-destruct mechanism built in, causing a massive detonation upon taking heavy damage.

Plot hooks

A powerful psionist has developed a method of hacking into security Deaders, enabling her to walk into banks and the mansions of the rich to grab whatever she wants. If the PC´s corner her, she will set her hacked Deaders to fight and delay them while she makes her escape.

The Locastrian Workers Movement, unhappy with the way Deaders are replacing human workers in the factories, have started to systematically destroy Deaders on the streets. They have learnt to use Molotov cocktails and alchemical bombs to take out entire crews of the slow, stupid road gangs. The PC´s are hired to infiltrate the Movement, and to take out its ringleaders.

Semi-magical street graffiti placed on a regular worker Deader has caused an arcane cross-reaction with its Power Sigils, which in turn has given it true self-awareness. Unfortunately, it has also developed a great rage and a taste for the flesh of the living. Even more disturbing, it can alter the Power Sigils of other Deaders to create more of its kind. The PC´s are hired to investigate a number of murders with cannibalistic overtones in the poorer parts of town, and must eventually confront the hive of mutant Deaders that hides there.

The City´s Deader population is being decimated by a plague of zombie-eating vermin, tiny scarlet ants that build hives inside the hollow bodies of the Deaders and consume them from the inside out. The fact that the ants can thrive in the toxic, cured tissues of the Deaders is an indication that this plague is not a natural one. Is this a biological experiment gone wrong, or the Worker´s Movement´s new angle of attack? The PC´s are hired to investigate.

The state-of-the-art Military Deader that protects the vault of Locastrian gold reserve has malfunctioned and now cannot be deactivated. Until such time as someone can either work out a way of repairing it, or destroying it outright, the Locastrian stock exchange have to remain closed. (This scenario, I think, work best with a more intellectual group of PC´s that will have to try to find a way to solve the problem without just hacking the Deader to bits.)

Cheka and I were talking the other night and got onto the topic of demons, due to a plot twist my players will soon discover in the game I run. We started imagining new and different types of infernal fiends. He suggested seeing if anyone had a thread for this type of thing and, since I didn’t notice one, I decided to create it. Give all the demons, devils and other evil creatures you can imagine.

To start everything off, here’s one I created for my campaign:

Anoitos Daimonas

This manipulative creature is usually underestimated. When in it’s natural form, it has huge feet, big ears and almond shaped purple eyes. It’s skin is a sickly grey color and not a single hair is to be found on its entire body. All, in all, the “silly demon” is a rather gooy looking individual. This is, however extremely misleading. They have shapeshifting ability, though only to humanoid forms and the palms of their hands contain glands which secrete a minor sedative poison, designed to pacify their opponent for later use.

This creature is clever, to the point where it is said by scholars that they could talk a god into mortality. Their intelligence is all but unsurpassed. Their most common trick is for one to travel to a mortal plane, then shift into a common form, integrating itself into a dominant society. It will then do what it can to ingraciate itself with a leader of some sort, a greedy and corruptable individual with which it will sign a pact. It will agree to work with the corrupt individual, giving it power, granting demonic grafts and abilities. In exchange it will live as it chooses, dining on expensive and rare foods, relishing in the uses of drugs and alcohol, all fully paid by the individual it makes its pact with.

In reality this monstrous being has a much more sinister goal in mind. It will slowly turn the government of it’s official xenophobic, instilling within them an irrational hatred of all races their own. It will wait, letting the race destroy all enemies, then it will bring a small army of it’s own through, lesser demons filled with a bloodlust. The remaining race will be annihilated and the demons will have control of this world. The anoitos is very good at what it does, rarely failing in it’s goals. It is intelligent, clever and all but unstoppable, despite its ridiculous appearance.

A new Take on Dwarves should hit the following key points Short (After all Dwarf means a short person), Underground (traditional living arrangements), Artificers (Maker of things, use of forge), and Good Combatant. They don’t have to be short vikings.

A new Take on Dwarves should hit the following key points: Short (After all Dwarf means a short person), Underground (traditional living arrangements), Artificers (Maker of things, use of forge), and Good Combatant. They don’t have to be short vikings. Our other Dwarf New Take ends up being short iron warriors whos souls are shuttled between metal cast bodies. There are some other variations on Dwarves in our settings area. Look around.

Mine are normally, what if humans were that species. I have done Lyrans (Elves), Orcen (Orcs), True Trolls; I expect to do others. Here are the Dwarves.

Interlude:

Taladan looked up from under the brim of his large floppy hat. Playing with his thick beard, he squinted in the sunlight scanning the road. His skin was ruddy, red with its constant exposure to the untamed sun. Then he knew they were comming. He didn’t see them, but The Earth did not lie. He felt the vibration from down the path.

Then the dust rose. Then everyone saw them.

The Twenty marched in perfect time and formation. Their silver armored bodies moved as if they were unencumbered. Dragon etched Plate and chain rang as they moved. Their heavy hammers were slung over their shoulders, spear on their back, ceremonial gladii (plural of gladius) at their belt. Their faces unseen under their fully encasing metallic helment, which circulated their air and protected them from the heat and light. They were an impressive sight. Even his well travelled companions were "impressed" by them, as they stired to readiness. Few had ever seen a Centuri Battle Unit above ground and lived to tell of it. Taladan shuffled a few strides forward.

The Centuri commander broke rank and marched up to him.

"Imperia Vide", (Imperium still lives!) he said in that loud voice of a command officer. He banged his left shoulder with his right hand, then slowly raised it, in salute. "Hail Servoi Taladen k’House Polienthi"

Taladen stood up a bit straighter, then returned the salute. "Hail Centuri First.", in a voice a bit louder than he expected. He had been above for years, but old habits die hard.

"Are you prepared to meet your duty, to fulfill your patron’s wish?"

With a deep breath, he nodded. He knew this was his only chance to return to the Underlands. And it was always a good idea to save the world when ever you could. "Do you have the Key?"

The First clapped. The Second came forwards with a small silver inlayed box. He opened it with precise motions. A crystal foci of Atlantean design, old when the Imperium was young, glisten in the sun for the first time in eight centuries. He then snapped the box closed. Turned. The Second took the box and dropped back into formation.

"We can do this then," Taladen said. He smiled to himself. He was falling into "Traditional" forms, despite being Outlanded thrity years ago.

"I have ... concerns… The Barbarians," The First motioned to the rest of Taladen’s friends.

"The… Breaker?" He meant the Lyran (Elf).
Taladen looked over his shoulder. He saw the Lyran with her thunderstick and mystically enhanced shortsword. It had taken him almost a year to actually trust her. He understood his concerns. They did nearly destroy the world several centuries back. Yet they have done much to repair it.
"It is their world too. They will want to fix it."

The First did not answer in words, but it was the subtle body language, a slight cocking of the head and shrugging of a shoulder. He did not like it, but he had to deal with it. He clapped in the traditional "business is done" manner.

Taladen was suprised, the First reached for his helmet. A centuri never took them off while on duty. With the whish of air, the helmet slid off. The Dokoren’s pale, pale, skin, matted black hair in the short Imperial Style, and large eyes were familiar. Squinting against the light, he reached to his belt pockets and pulled out goggles. With the smoked black goggles in place, he smirked. Taladen was still in shock.

"Well met. Brother."

History

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These Dokoren, or under people, are the proud descendents of Imperial Lines and Culture. They believe themselves to be the torch of civilization, that all others are barbarians and primatives. They believe in Duty and Obligation. They will get the job done and move on. They are Dokoren and all others are lesser breeds.

They are a Roman Analog society. When confronted by a needed image or area, that is not covered by another write up, assume it is the least corrupt Roman option.

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Long ago, There was The Imperium. This is the great Roman Empire Analog that had great powers of old (now lost) and a client-patron system that will evolve into the psuedo medival system found in most fantasy games. Something bad happened. The Dokoren call it "The Time of Ruin. There was a great disruption of the ecology and the power of magic. Talk to the Elves/ Lyrans, they were there and they caused the problem. The Imperium fell due to missing magics, resources not being transfered, and lack of communication. The reminants of the Imperium are the foundation in which the "current world" is now built.

The Foundation concept is more true than one expects.

In the last days, many Imperials fled the environmental issues and chaos caused by the changes generated by "The Time of Ruin" into underground places. Some of these places were already in made, being used for entertainment or storage or as a novel place to be. Others were fashioned by limited Imperial Magics available at the time. The Imperials originally planned to move below just until things settled down. They were called The Dokor, Under People.

(A few Imperials stuck it out Above, and they became the peoples known today.)

Imperial culture is one built of formal rules of law and duty. Everyone knows their place and what is expected of them. You are a patron of your lessers and a client of one of your betters. This interplay of obligations is the center of Imperial Culture. They are belivers in ORDER, DUTY, PRIDE in one’s self, ones patron, one’s people, and one’s city, and the skills to back up that pride. While hubris is frowned upon, proper belief is crucial to the Imperial Mentality. Thus it is a halmark of Dokoren thinking.

Imperial Culture had a rank system. Nobles were those of Power and Wealth. Now Imperial Magics were not the combat magics and odd spells that have survived the "Time of Ruin". They are practical magics used for building, communicating, summoning elementals for use, travel, and the occasional duel and crowd control. The Nobles had access to these powers and used for them for the good of the Community in general and their clients in specific. The clients then provided the nobles with things they needed.

Elite Ranks

(Elites had to have both Empowerment (ability to work power) and money to prove their worth. With enough skill and effort, almost anyone could work power).

Sentori (Noble): These are families of wealth, power, and prestige. Each family had country holdings (food production is always an underlying source of income) and business ventures. (Sentori could have arms and were expected to either serve in the Legions OR sponsor Centuri (to fight for them). Sentori ranked individuals were supposed to lead the people, either directly OR as part of the Senate - The Sentori council.

There will be three colors of Sentori sashes, each one red, blue, purple shows the amount of money and you "officially have" (and are taxed upon). Your color determines your power in the Senate

Judicun (Judges): Sentori who sit as judges in a variety of councils. They are stripped of much of their wealth and power, but are independent of many the Sentori rules and restrictions. This allows them to make judgements, but not be influenced. They are paid by all the Sentori in an area by a tax. There will be one to three of them in an area. They wear white sashes.

Centuri (Knights): Those of lessor Sentori rank (red) OR those of Craftiun Ranks sponsored by a Sentori to be "The Arm of the Imperium". Centuri could be officers in The Legions, but many were just in elite units. Classically, the Centuri were a mounted force, but now they are just any professional warrior.

These warriors drill and polish their skills. They have access to centuries old martial traditions and arts. With their armors, and weapons, they protect the Underlands from Uplanders and from the Terrors of the Stones (Deep Earth).

Zostiun (Priests): This is a rank that stradles the Elite and the Free ranks. Those from any class can become priests, if called. It is an act of great devotion to demote one’s self to a lower rank.

Free Ranks

Craftiun (Craftsmen): Those who follow a trade of some skill. Free to do many things in the Empire. They could become Centuri or even Sentori if they could amass enough wealth and support. They were limited on the amount of land they could own and could only practice businesses in their area of trade.

Magi: Those who can work power, but do not have enough wealth to be elite. This is one of the easiest ways for a non-imperial to become an imperial.

Servori (Servant): These are the people "who serve" Sentori Patrons, but are not specific craftsmen per say. This could be an artist, or common soldiers, or a body guard, or a farmer working a Sentori’s lands. It could even be a Valet.

Slave Ranks

Slaves branded as such until they generated enough wealth to either pay off their debt to society or an indvidual. In the later period of the Empire, the debt was passed to the family, so your children would continue to pay off your debt. These people did the grunt work for everyone. Even a Sentori could become a Slave for a time, if there was some debt or crime to pay off.

There is now two ranks of Slaves- Dokoren/ Imperial slaves and Uplander slaves.

Misc

The Imperial Culture was tradition bound. However, it would accept any immediately practical innovation. So technological innovation was and still is slow. The Higher ranks embraced any technology which means they did not have to use their powers to specifically do "simple things". And Imperial Technology never advanced far enough to truly replace any higher end Sentori power.

Their traditions of Duty and Pride in ones self, society, and work, makes for an incredible worth ethic. Craftsmen here make things of intricate detailwork and artistic value (as long as the artistic elements do not compromise efficiency).

The Dokoren have a technological headstart over the rest of the world. They never lost the knowledge of Imperial Technology. Therefore they have plumbing, air conditioning, gas pipes, stronger alloys, and optics. It has advanced slowly over the centuries, as new practical challanges occured… thus were met. So now they have steam powered cable cars in mines, light tubes, pumps, fans, and so on. The most important new development is the self contained breathing apparatus and the sealed suit. This allows the Dokoren to work in conditions that would be impossible for anyone to work in. When this was combined with a suit of armor, it allowed the Dokoren to be an efficient fighter in almost every condition.

Imperial Dokoren are a much more practical and pragmatic people than Imperials of elder times. They see problems and look for solutions. Their environmental issues require people to be that focused.

Imperial Lines were never tall people. Over the years, shortness became an advantage. So the Dokoren are a good head shorter if not a head and a half shorter than the average civilized human.

...And then the evil necromancer killed everyone and made them into zombies to do really evil things. I mean really evil, kicking puppies, eating kittens and making lewd sexual gestures at unsuspecting shoppers at Wal-Mart. Yeah and he had a severed head for a hat and was eating a sandwich made out of real lady-fingers…

Anyone else tired of this? I know I am. The Necromancer, this poor guy has born the brunt of fantasy villany for Lord knows how long. Untold numbers of places have been ruined by his passage, or heaven forbid his eating lunch there once. Legions of heroes have sprung up to slay him and his armies of undead. Where did all of the undead come from, did no one notice him stealing all of the corpses from the graveyard?

In truth, this magnitude of evil is rarely, if ever reached. The typical fantasy Necromancer exists on a world altering level of evil equivalent to Adolf Hitler. Anyone who espouses such malevolence is invariably a demon, or a human who acts like a demon and looses quite a bit of credibility. In its own way, the Necromancer has been ritually abused just like the elf, the dwarf and the orc.

you know what that means don’t you?

I know some of you do, some fingers are already itching to give their ideas.

“Listen!”
“Listen to the Wind! Listen to Crackling Fire! Listen to the Groan of the Mountain! Listen to my Voice! Listen and you will See through the Smoke! See the Old Ways of our Forefathers! See the Glory of our Clan! See the Might of our Race!”—Horn-Of-Plenty, Shaman of the Thorondrim Minotaurs, leading his people in the Khuugrad

Her face bears a long scar, one that almost splits the cheek and runs laterally across her jaw and almost to her ear. Among the Taurs she is known as Scars-Flown-Proudly, and is one of the militant followers of Scars-of-Glory. It is an honor and perhaps a novelty to this grim yet noble race that they allow me to come among them and learn of them. She has told me the stories of her scars, and of her pride, her one and only son who has since gone to the High Pastures with Horn-of-Plenty and the other traditionalists. I asked her to tell me of the old tales, and thankfully she obliged me.

In the days of the Old World the minotaurs were among the leaders of Falhath. The Prelate of the Satrap, assistant to the Dynast Regents was always one of the Horned Ones. They stood for what as seen as the heart of Falhath, strength, honor, tradition, and courage. During this time the minotaurs, or the taurics as they were more commonly known not only embraced civilization, but we among its brightest. It is now forgotten that many of the scrolls of philosophy and contemplation were penned by the heavy hands of the Taurs. It was only in the realm of sorcery that the Taurs were unable to compete with humans. The arcane powers of sorcery simply seemed to be incompatible with their physiology and even today most Taurs retain a degree of magic resistance.

Yet when the end came crashing down, the minotaurs were among those who suffered the worse, perhaps only the Grae’ae suffered worse, each having been destroyed by their own power. When the horrors of the Nightmare War came knocking they found the vanguard of the Taurs ready, and much of Falhath’s preservation from the devastation is directly linked to the heroic acts of the Taurs. According to records the deity Izkander, consort to Ixia, the Silver Forge was actually a minotaur warrior god and was among those powers that were snuffed out by the Nightmare War.

The Great Khuugrad
Not an individual, but a ceremony sacred to the Taurs, the survivors build a massive bonfire, mostly out of the ruins that surrounded their former homes. As the rosewood and lacquered bamboo was consumed by the fires, the gathered lords and horned nobles discussed what their plans and options were. Their long time allies, the sorcerous and serpentine Grae’ae were no more, and it seemed that all of the ills that had occurred could be laid at the feet of an ignorant and ambitious humanity. Disgusted with what had happened those gathered elders, under the dying light of a bonfire of vanity decided to forever forsake the path of civilization.

The Minotaurs that survived the Fall, as they came to call it, retreated to the hinterlands, the impenetrable pine barrens, hidden alpine meadows, and most of all the intimidating mountains of Thorondrim. They eschewed the societies of men, bitter and betrayed, and chose to live in solitude above the sodden and long since destroyed home of their ancestral and long since extinct Centaurum rivals.

The Waning Years
The Minotaurs grew more proud and haughty than ever despite their situation. They looked inward and to past glories in order to give their race the semblance of greatness which they all still feel in their hearts and souls. Now several generations later, they have grown much less fecund and much more morose, a dying race holding out valiantly but hopelessly, against the forces of the inevitable. Birth rates have begun to drop and no reason has been discovered for this drop off in fertility. Some expect the Horned Ones to birth the final generation within the next decade or so.
As years went by, their relative solitude and new natural environment has greatly influenced their ways and their culture has changed in many bizarre ways. The society of Minotaurs is really two groups in one now. The first group lives in the stony meadows and alpine valleys at the foothills of the Thorondrim. They dwell in huge tent-like pavilions, hunting the forests, and even growing certain crops. They are the slightly less grim and somber of the two tribes. They are known as the Low Ones by the other clan, but in every basic way are the same as the High Ones.

This second group, much smaller in size, dwells high in the Thorondrims proper, perched in stony structures carved into the very rock of the mountains. This group truly loathes the lands and ways of men, and have retreated even further from civilization than their cousins, who dwell below the gray peaks. They include the Shaman-Prelate, Horn-Of-Plenty, spiritual leader of both tribes, a title that combines the old nomenclature from Falhath with the culture of The New Way. Ironically the New Way is really the Old Way, as the Minotaurs have rekindled the traditions of their ancient ancestral brethren. Here as well dwells the War-Caller, Scars-of-Glory, a nearly berserk female Minotaur who somewhat predictably preaches the hopeless Last War, a final assault on humankind, and the rekindled might of her race.

Lifestyle of the Grim and the Noble
The Minotaurs subsist mainly by gathering the grasses and grains native to the hinterlands. The Lowland septs supplement their diets with tubers, and fruits, while the highland minotaurs tend towards more Spartan fare enriched by the blubber of pog-choy worms. The pace of life is slow, with much time given to deep thought and reflection. During the spring, the males engage in trials of manhood to determine who has the right to breed with the cows. Despite the increasing competition, fewer and fewer minotaurs are being born to the females. While the cause is unknown to the Taurs, it is a factor of their environment. The fescue grain that they harvest has a fertility suppressing agent in it that is related the bitter grass that prostitutes brew into contraceptive maidenhead tea.

Another common contest of manhood is now held in early spring when the snows and ice melt and fill the mountain streams. Young minotaurs will emerge themselves neck deep in these freezing streams and simply stand. They try to stand in the water longer than the other contestants. Their hearty constitution prevents them from dying of hyperthermia, but it is still a good indication of which young bull can stand the freezing water longer.

The minotaurs also have a strange barely controllable predilection for concentric circle labyrinths. This strange habit of circle-walking stems from their ancient history of eons ago. Horn-Of-Plenty sometimes walks these circles in meditation while ‘high’ inside the Great Smoke Hall. This like the Khuugrads itself allows him to ‘see things’. He has been known to walk these circles in a daze for several days at a time, chanting and murmuring! Every minotaur has a small (10 foot radius) concentric walk-way in their home, for personal use. It is important to note that a maze and a labyrinth are not the same thing. There is only one path through a labyrinth and though it is circuitous and long, the center is always reached and there are no dead ends or wrong paths.

Yodeling or more properly Lowing, is another weird tradition among the mountain clans. Scaling the highest peaks and ‘singing songs of race and glory’, the minotaurs try to outdo one another with their baritone voices. It is worth noting that only the bulls of the Taurs will engage in this yodeling, leaving the cows behind to listen in on the competition. To the human ear, these sound more like echoing, thunderous, throaty bellows, and create many legends of the eerie Thorondrims.

The Mountain clan often hunts Pog-Chuy Worms. These are thick, revolting cave-moray like remnants of some past true wyrms approximately 7-10 feet long. While aggressive, they also tend to be languid, and are therefore are no match for the minotaurs and their axes and long spears. The thick grotesque rubbery undersides of these worms, are filled with whale like blubber, which allows the worms to survive on fat deposits, in between rare occasional meals of mountain goats and occasional climbers. The minotaurs use this blubber to create giant candles for use in the Khuugrad. This substance while burning, gives off a sickly smell, but also aids the hallucinations with its strange chemical propertiesCeremonies
The Mountain tribes hold the Khuugrad with every New Moon. All the minotaurs attend, the Low Ones ascending the Thorondrims to join their cousins. A combination of mountain plants, herbs, moss, and Lowland peat, along with other bizarre ingredients are used by the Shaman-Prelate Horn-of-Plenty and his assistants to stoke huge bonfires. The fires burn with thick, greenish, hallucinogenic smoke which is then funneled into the Great Smoke Hall, filling the huge pavilion entirely. Horn-of-Plenty then begins his chants, while throwing more strange ingredients into the flames, and lighting giant candles, as the minotaurs take their place in a great circle. It is due to the strange plants used, and the sing-song hypnotic chanting that allows the Minotaurs to see the past and sometimes future. While most of these windows are actually LSD-like induced phantasms, the minotaurs believe these to be actual past and future visions.

The truth behind the vision quests is blurry. Many times the quests are simple drug induced states of euphoria, but as of late there has been a new vitality following Scars-of-Glory and her profound experience at a Khuugrad. She saw the future of the race was bound to an outward expansion, to leave the high meadows and bring war against the humans who have been steadily growing in number and regaining their lost sorcerous might and glory. Scars-of-Glory is opposed by Horn-of-Plenty, the wily and old orator of the tribe who holds to the old path and preaches isolationism and meditation. They both have sizeable followings and the outcome of the power struggle is far from clear.

Plot Hooks
Freelance - Some younger Taurs have tired of the tribal existence and wander into human lands and sell their services as bodyguards. Having an eight foot horned warrior at your side tends to deter many assailants. The PCs could encounter one of these Bull-Errants as either a guard for a rival or enemy, or even gain one in their employ. Some are simply seeking a new life while others could be advance scouts for Scars-of-Glory plans of expansion.

The New Settlement - As humans drive further and further into the mountains they coming into closer contact with the Taurs on their home turf. Tensions mount and hostilities erupt between the war-hawks of the Taurs and the colonist militia. Can the PCs defuse the situation? Can they find and reason with the Taurs or due they earn the spite of the tribe by launching a new war against the Taurs?

Houses of the Holy - Driven by a vision, a prophet/oracle/seer decides that they must attend the next Khuugrad. It is up to the PCs to escort the frail/elderly/naive seer to the mountains and gain for them access to the Great Smoke Hall.

The Unmentionable One
One way to earn the hostility of the minotaurs is to mention the “Unmentionable One”. Years ago a minotaur named Korokai Maaz went “crazy” from all his hallucinations. Suffering through a deranged and failed vision quest, he was convinced that the glory of the race could be salvaged by breeding with the wild bovine and human-tamed cows of the alpine valleys. It is said he rushed down to these herds, alone, in a mad rage and began to mate with them all. His vision quest and excessive exposure to the hallucinogenic compounds left him to believe that not only would this restore the fecundity of the race, but it would create a new strain of superior minotaur.

Some humans had seen this lunatic behavior and comedic, raunchy tales, awful to the ears of the minotaurs, began to circulate among the people of the area. The minotaurs slew this disgrace Korokai and dubbed him the Unmentionable One. If by any chance he is mentioned whilst another minotaur is nearby the speaker would be censured and ostracized on the spot! Do not speak of Korokai Maaz!

Appearance
Mountain trolls are among the largest of the troll races; the others being marine trolls, forest trolls, and the hyperborean ice trolls. Barrel chested and bow-legged, the trolls in general present a rather comical appearance. They lack a certain grace held by other dangerous races such as the dark fae, dragons, and the like. Their arms are quite long, and most of the time trolls are content to move about on four limbs. While capable of standing and walking on their legs alone, they tend to be a good deal slower.

The trollish nose is large, and their ability to track by scent is only surpassed by bloodhounds and other scent hounds. Their ears are also large, giving them a greater range of hearing, mostly into the lower frequencies of sound. Troll eyes tend to be beady and small, and most trolls are rather myopic and can discern little other than movement and color at long distances.

Unlike most popular illustrations in the various bestiaries, trolls are covered with copious amounts of hair. Not quite like an animal’s coat, most of this hair grows from the back, belly, the lower legs and the forearms. Younger trolls tend to have thick and wild manes of hair that creep down their necks. Females have a finer version of this mane and elder males tend to go bald or gray in their early thirties.

Proto-Culture
Trolls are an intelligent species that have developed rudimentary language, tool use, and a few elements of social structures. While there is certainly no threat of a Trollish nation, troll blacksmiths or troll magi, the race has learned the basics of shaping stone into weapons for hunting. They also have a strong but very primitive sort of magic that is instinctively used by the rare Trollish Shamans. The tool users tend to gravitate towards leadership positions while those who have learned to speak to the sky and the stones become shamans and are as likely to be outcaste from their social group as becoming leaders or advisors.

The standard social unit of the mountain troll is the troop. Generally consisting of an alpha male troll and a harem of female trolls numbering between 2 and seven members. There are also generally young equal to the total number of adults in the troop. Females remain with the troop until they find suitable mates, though a degree of inbreeding occurs between some father-daughter members. Males, once they reach sexual maturity are forced to either defeat the leader of a troop for his females, or leave the troop on his own.

Solitary Trolls
Three factors will remove a troll from a social grouping. The first reason is that the troll, now advanced in years is no longer able to defend his claim to a troop of females and associated stomping grounds. These graybeard trolls tend to be large and vicious in their old age, but are too slow to fight off younger and more aggressive trolls. A newly come of age male troll is forced from the troop often wanders for a while as a solitary troll. Most of these will either join an all male bachelor troop or will manage to gain a female and start his own troop. While a solitary troll of this sort is considered less dangerous than a troop troll, the bachelor pack of trolls is a violent force that breaks trees, maraud and pillage and most often fall into servitude with evil warlords and other dominating types.

The final reason a troll becomes solitary is that the troll in question has an innate magical ability. Most often based around an element, generally water, fire or stone, these troll shamans tend to keep spirits as companions and are among the most intelligent of the trollish race. Given enough time, these trolls can learn the basics of the common tongue.

The Chieftans
There are a small number of trolls who by virtue of their strength and cunning take up the role of being Troll Chieftans. It generally takes an outside threat that pressures a trollish population to spur the ‘election’ of a chieftan. The process of election is much like the bravado and brutish bellowing and chest beating of the mating season. Those who are not bluffed by demonstrations of strength face off in grappling and throwing matches. In the end, the smartest and fiercest trolls tend to win out.

A chieftan is able to access a sort of racial and communal magic. As bastions of strength, a troll chieftan by his presence alone can lend strength to the trolls that follow under his command. This combined with the rapid healing of trolls makes for a formidable foe that even better equipped enemies have a hard time facing.

Trollish Magic
Trolls, much to the chagrin of wizards and magi, are an innately magical species. The best known of their powers, and most exaggerated, is that of Trollish regeneration. Myths tell that if a troll’s head is cut off, the head will grow another body and the body, another head. While the bestial trolls are certainly able to regrow lost fingers, even limbs over enough time, they are still quite mortal. The regeneration is quick and leaves little in the way of scars. It is also tied strongly into the natural elemental affinities of water and stone.

Trollish strength is another thing of legend. While giants are known for throwing boulders and ogres routinely use trees as clubs, none can match the relentless might of the trolls. This strength is most obvious during lifting or sustained holds as the force exerted grows the longer they maintain it. Thus there is some truth to tales of ogres lifting castle gates, pulling down stone towers, and crushing the life from the throats of young and arrogant dragons. It should be noted that before applying sustained force, a troll is generally no stronger than it’s appearance would suggest.

Finally, there is a strong antipathy between Trolls and simulacra built and used by artificers. As such, trolls have an almost intuitive sense of weak points in golems, clockwork creations and other artifacts and artifact creatures. This grants no special immunity to the weapons of such creatures, but most have since learned that using golems and such against trolls is a measure of desperation and futility.

Trolls Minds
THe trollish mind is relatively simple and their though processes are not convoluted. This sraight forward mode of thinking has both limitations and certain advantages. The main advantage to this mode is that illusions tend to not be very effective against trolls. They generally get twice the bonus to notice or disbelieve illusions. The disadvantages are much more severe. Without abstract though, trolls are notorious for almost non-existant long term planning and their actions are seldom done with thoughs of consequences or repercussions. Magics that control the mind are very effective against trolls, which has the tendancy of making trolls as slaves very popular among the magi who are likely to keep monsters in their retinue.

Plot HooksThe Wizard’s Troll - The PCs are hired by a wizard to capture a troll for him. They are given a suitable one shot magic item to place the beast under their control to have it docile for delivery. Much like great white hunters, the PCs have to find a troll and subdue it long enough to use the item, and then return through the countryside with a feared and brutish monster…why does the wizard want one of these things for anyway?

After having read through some of the many, many submissions on the main site, I have come to this conclusion: The mysterious, wiry and highly skilled assassin with daggers in his boots, a difficult childhood and black clothes… Well, he needs a makeover! It seems everyone else has concluded the same.

But instead of just complaining about it, lets try to improve upon this profession, because they are very handy in any political plot.

Here is an example from history:

Led by Hasan Al Sabah, the “Old Man of the Mountain”, the Hashishin were a cult based at the mountain fortress of Alamut, located in what is modern-day Iran. By all accounts (including that of Marco Polo), these people - from whose name the modern term assassin is derived - were a pretty scary bunch. Hasan’s followers were a band of fearless political killers, and his method of indoctrination was pretty unique. He constructed a secret garden furnished with all the paradisical delights of paradise - women, great food and, of course, hashish. After the would-be assassins had experienced a few days of this mediaeval rock star lifestyle they were cast out with a mission, and the promise that if they completed it successfully and then committed suicide, they would return to the paradise.

So, lets break the cliche and create some great alternatives! I hereby challenge everyone to create their own unique strain.

Looking at the description of many items in Leading RPG Systems, I find I miss the detailed descriptions I have been used to here at Strolens.

The purpose of this compilation is to gather items of all power levels that fit the same niches as the classics, but with a Strolenite spin. There is no need to cite what original item inspired you, nor what system they come from, but they should be different enough to warrent your efforts.

Full Description The Oraki may span the full range of human sizes and more, ranging from between 1.5m to 3m in height, though they typically retain a human-like body shape and proportion. Skin tone, hair color, and eye color may range the full spectrum of the rainbow. Male-analogues are typically larger than females, and commonly are darker in color, with true black, sapphire blue, brown, ash grey, and burgundy being common for both skin and hair, while females are often paler in color, favoring pastel shades of blue, pink, white, yellow, and green. There is, however, no set rule.

Being primarily made of complex metallioids rather than the CHON chemistry of carbon based life forms, an Oraki will usually tip the scales at six to ten times the weight of an equivalently sized organic humanoid. It is not uncommon for larger males to mass over a ton and a half.

Being mechanical in origin, the Oraki are often stronger and far more durable than organics, able to sustain and slowly regenerate even the most terrible wounds, so long as their central core is undamaged. This requries the presence of sufficient ‘nutrients’, which can be ingested like a human’s food, or, in the case of the most severe wounds, the Oraki can be thrown into a nutrient tank, where he can wait out the injury. As a rule of thumb, it will take about three weeks to regenerate a limb or other major subsystem. This regeneration is essentially the only healing available to Oraki, however, for they are entirely foreign to all but the most specialized of doctors, and magic, should it exist, is tuned to the needs of men. They are exceptionally sensitive to EMP and electrical weapons, and particularly paranoid humans have created several strains of nanite ‘bio-weapons’ which can be used against them.

The same mechanical origins means that they require a different sort of food, typically sold as a semi-flavored ‘paste’ of various metal oxides and required hydrocarbons. It is poisonous to a human, but without it, the Oraki will eventually wear down and stop. Likewise, human food holds no nutritional value, and while it can be consumed, and even enjoyed, the Oraki must still eat their special food.

The primary energy source for the Oraki is a miniature fusion reactor within their core unit. One function of the paste food is to fuel this reactor with hydrogen, and to replace the lithium energy collection material, which is slowly converted to useless beryllium.

Oraki are capable of sexual reproduction, though they require a certain level of external assistance to complete the reproductive cycle. During a merging not entirely unlike sex between two organic beings, generative data is exchanged between the male-analogue and female-analogue. This data is combined semi-randomly, resulting the template for a new and unique individual. During gestation, the female’s body is able to create the core to this new template, but it is unable to start the reactor that will bring (independant) life to the child. This core consists of the mini-reactor that will provide energy to the nanomachines that make up the body’s cellular structure, as well as core processing and memory banks. The core is then laid, much like a round, brilliantly colored egg, where it placed in an Oraki Gestation Chamber. This chamber, and the devices hooked to it, are specifically designed to jump start the reactor, and to provide the nutrients the core-unit needs to finish the building of the finished body. The female body requires about two and a half months to generate the core, after which the core must spend almost an entire earthling year inside its Gestation Chamber. The newborn Oraki emerges roughly the size of human in their early teenage years, and requires approximately ten to fifteen further years to reach his or her adult size, during which he must be raised the same as any organic child.

While it is not yet confirmed, the average Oraki is projected to have a functional life span of approximately 1-1.5 thousand years before degradation of the core causes them to begin to malfunction.

Adult Oraki generally prefer the technical and warlike fields, though, peculiarly, many Oraki females can be found in the organic medicine fields, where their immunity to biological diseases gives them a certain advantage. Some few enhancement systems for the Oraki have begun to be developed by ‘their’ scientists, allowing for the occasional interesting trick, but the majority of the Oraki have no special abilities beyond their origin… so far.

Despite their regenerative abilities and great longitivity, the Oraki are neither immortal, nor unkillable. While massive damage to the core will destroy them, EMP and electrical effects can do permanent damage to their minds and bodies in subtle and curious ways. Should they survive the short term effects of these, there is little prediction of future events - a disease not entirely unlike cancer may crop up if portions of their nanites are damaged in the correct way.

The Oraki have no truly independent society as of yet - There are a scant few thousand individuals with only a few centuries of history. However, they have begun to make the first steps towards the beginnings of such - A scant few holidays, a tradition of naming, a home of sorts.

Half through stealth, half through bold faced courage, the Oraki have staked a claim to a world not far from the home of humanity, one they have named simply ‘Sanctuary’. It is a a cold and dead world, made nearly entirely of the heavy metals the Oraki require for life, the white dwarf star having long since scorched away the world’s mantle when it swelled to a red giant aeons ago. Here, burrowed beneath the surface, the splinters of humanity bold enough to advocate genocide against them are not strong enough to root them out, and as an (strongly opposed) applicant for membership in the United Worlds, the powers that can destroy them must hold their hand, for the time being.

A portion of the young Oraki born on Sanctuary are sent out into the galaxy, as workers and diplomats - They must acclimate humanity to their existance, and the best way to do this is to coexist. Meanwhile, on Sanctuary, construction of the world and expansion of the race continues.

Each of these newborn children that is born undergoes a brief ritual, the ‘Blooding of Orak’, in which they are annointed in a crimson fluid, though not real blood, in rememberance of the birth of their race. Once per decade, too, is that day of their birth commemorated, as all pause in what they are doing for a brief moment, simultaneously, a unitary moment of silence.

Until he is able to choose his own name, the Oraki are referred to simply as the ‘son/daughter of (mother) and (father). It is usually around one to two years that the newborn is sufficiently facile with language and understanding to choose his name. These are generally descriptive of the personality that the Oraki thinks he desires to live up to, with men often choosing names related to the sky, avians, or musical inclinations, while female names are often earthy, feline, or poetic. This name is then formally appended with a six digit time stamp, denoting the six digit Sanctuary Local Year(roughly 4.5 Terran years) and Deci-year of his birth. For example, Hawk-0074.4 once desired to be of great observational ability, and was born 74.4 Sanctuary years after the founding of Sanctuary, while Grana-0145.0 considers herself a strong and stable personality. They are called ‘Hawk’ and ‘Grana’ by people they meet, as the date is only used for databank differentiation.

History They called him mad. Mad. But he would show them. He would make a machine into a man. So went the work of Rudolph Orak, master nanitist. If colonies of nanomachines could work together like simple cellular colonies, why not emulate the most complex machine of them all? And so he began to pour the family fortunes into his experiments, each new breakthrough funding the next, and the next, and so on. His assistants were hand picked, well-screened. His bank trails were difficult, exceedingly complex. He would succeed, Neo-Luddites be damned. But the weft of the project was too much for him, and he would never see success. But as he expired, his grandson would be there to take up the project. And so it continued, generation of genius raised to the task for four entire centuries, occasionally skipping from one to the next, and dancing in hiding from world to world. Twice they were caught, the descendants of Orak, men and women slain, equipment destroyed, but always there was a backup plan.

And finally, it was done. A few short weeks after the first few of the new beings awoke, and looked upon each other, the door to the complex caved in beneath the blows of those who decried the intrusion upon God’s territory. Theirs would be a baptism of blood, but they had arrived, and now, these children, these Oraki, they would need to find their way through the universe.

Descended from nomadic human tribes, the bulky frames, dense muscles, and flattened features of the Orcish people often give the impression of dumb, hulking brutes; while this is far from the truth, the image is one the Orcs are willing to cultivate for the sake of having the other races underestimate them. In truth, the orcs are as intelligent as any other race, merely possessed of a strong spiritual aptitude. Of all the races, the Orcs have the largest pantheon of Mortal Gods, and rarely does a fortnight pass without at least one religious holiday. Due in large part for this innate aptitude for spiritual matter, the orcs are also the only Mortal race to have discovered Far Kuramen; while members of the race who can find the way between worlds are fairly rare, they happen often enough that each roving tribe generally has a 'world-walker' shaman, capable of bridging the gap for the tribe, which in turn lets them bring all manner of unusual trinkets to trade with the more settled races.

Personality

Orcs, by nature of their association with Far Kuramen, tend to have somewhat flamboyant and chaotic personalities, although this is moderated by the quiet shamanistic belief and simple focus of the nomadic life. More than any other race, however, orcs will go out of their way to be unique individuals, often taking great pride in their appearance relative to others in their tribe. As such, orcish children tend to begin self-inflicting ritual scarring from a remarkably young age, trusting in their hardy constitutions to handle it; their parents look upon this fondly, remembering their own childhood, and more than one young warrior has recieved an array of scar-dyes among his coming-of-age gifts.

Physical Description

Orcs are large by human standards, although not tall; most average a few inches shorter than their ancestral counterparts, but make up for it with a much more massive frame; where a large human might mostly occupy a well-built doorway, a large orc would completely occupy it and bend the doorframe a bit. Likewise, this bulk lends itself to a hardy physique, if not necessarily a strong one, as orcs are a healthy and resilient race. On average, orcs are a dusky-skinned race, some shading to unusual hues due to the influence of Far Kuramen; orcs with red, blue, or even violet skins are not unheard of, often in conjunction with the gifts of the Shaman or the Gatekeeper. Orcish features are somewhat flattened, giving them a squashed appearance, with overlarge nostrils and wide mouths that give them a somewhat simple-minded look. Most orcs are covered in ritual scars, many wildly colored by special dyes; some scars have important meaning, while others are carved by particularly bored orcs or young children attempting to give themselves a unique appearance; similarly, while orcish hair tends to be naturally black, many tribesmen will go to great lengths to dye and otherwise alter their hair to give them a more individual look, such that any given orc is readily identifiable.

Relations

Orcs tend to get on reasonably well with most other races, although few races ever fully trust the orcs, given their often otherworldly aura and the way an entire tribe may mysteriously disappear in the middle of the night, often literally into thin air. That said, the halflings are the one race the orcs do not get along well with in most situations, due to their mutual ancestry; where the orcs learned the lessons during the collapse of the human empire and became a much enlightened and peaceful people, the halfings became feral, savage degenerates, embodying the worst of the empire's downfalls. The orcs blame the halflings' ancestors for the collapse, while the halflings merely take offense for the orcs' haughty attitude towards them. Meetings between the two races usually turn violent, and more than one homicide in major cities has been written off as racially motivated for this reasons.

Lands

Orcish tribes do not have native lands; being a nomadic people and traders in curios from Far Kuramen, they roam where they see fit, and most nations are content to ignore them as long as they do not cause trouble. Some few tribes (the Fire Speaker tribe and the Frozen Wyrm tribe being the most well-known) have a relatively restricted range, often owing more to the inhospitable nature of their surrounding regions as to any 'settling down' by those tribes. Tribes which meet will often engage encamp for a few weeks in an informal kind of festival and celebration, with marriages, trading, and contests between the two tribes taking place before they part. Even those tribes which feel some antipathy toward each other will not break this tradition, although their contests will often be bloodier and the marriages less numerous.

Religion

Orcish religion is an amazingly complex thing; each tribe venerates all the Mortal Gods they know of, often adding more with each passing year, referring to them as the Small Gods for their often-limited influence and range. When two orcish tribes meet, the shamans often spend the first few days of the celebration teach each other of the gods they have learned of; similarly, the discovery of a Lost God, Abomination, or Dragon is heralded as a great event among the orcish people, and tribes have been known to change their name in honor of these discoveries. Even the Six and the Primordials recieve veneration, although somewhat cautiously lest it draw too much interest from these mighty entities. Due to their massive pantheon, orcs often regard each and every day as holy for some reason or another, and will often stop to perform rituals that seem obscure, outlandish, or merely bizarre to any non-orcish races as they venerate the Small Gods. So common is this veneration that orcs have been known to create Small Gods by accident due to misunderstandings about rituals and the nature of the god the ritual is for.

Language

Each tribe speaks a distinctive dialect of the core orcish tongue, all of which are close enough to be understood by one another; as such 'Orcish' is always dialectic: Orcish (Fire Speaker) is different than Orcish (Frozen Wyrm), even though the epakers can understand one another. Each tribe, however, is fully certain that their dialect is the language spoken by the lost empire from which they are descended, and all share the same written language.

Names

Orcs have two names, in general; one is known within their tribe, and is regarded as a thing of great spiritual and thus magical power, and is almost never shared with any not of their own tribe; should they marry into another tribe, they recieve a second personal name, known within their new tribe. They also have a traveller's name, one given should they encounter outsiders, or when they are out wandering the world on their own for whatever reason. Each tribe often chooses traveller's names related to their tribe name, while personal names are wildly varied.

Adventurers

Being nomads in both a literal sense and in their habit of crossing the Gates opened by their Gatekeepers, adventuring is a fairly common profession among the orcish tribes; members of a tribe will split away for years or decades at a time for whatever reason, often accumulating wealth and renown, and then one day return to their tribe without any difficulty.

Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?

Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?

Well, if you can imagine that, then you must have some inkling that the undead are definitely not being used to their full potential.

I think that there are few things that are more anathema to the human psyche than the living dead; the fear of the thing which should not live is a potent one, even in the modern society of sarcasm and realism.

So why do we not fear the undead? Why do the heroes of our favorite games not flee in horror from the shambling zombie? Why do pale corpse-lords who thirst for blood not inspire shaking terrors from adventurers who come to steal their treasure?

This Codex is devoted to restoring the dead-who-live to their former horrible glory. Here, we will post unique and different kinds of undead, new and more fearful beings from beyond the grave. Ghosts, mummies, zombies, liches, worms-that-walk; all of those and more will be remade in this thread.

Full Description
During the humanoid phase of their life span, the Rosahomid are roughly five feet tall, and shaped approximately like a human. The lower half of their body bears a rough, flexible skin, much like bark, while their upper body is a curious melange of coarse, yellow structures akin to long hairs, woven into a mat of brightly colored flower petals. Their eyes are a relatively ‘simple’ affair compared to other species, a compound structure of hexagonal lenses set on their head.

Rather than the traditional hands, they have a small cluster of tentacles at the end of each upper limb, which they use for grasping tools.

Additional Information

The Rosahomid humanoid form is the reproductive ‘spore’ of a species of tremendous plant, native to the second planet of Rosetta. Vast tree-like creatures, reaching up to three miles into the sky, they must spread around the land very thinly, so as not to starve each other to death. And as they grew, more traditional ways of seeding the land began to fail, so they evolved self-mobile seeds. These seeds, too, entered the evolutionary chain, competing with animals amongst their parents roots and shadows for food and water, amongst each other and the plants of the forests for space. In time, the seed of sapience began to flower within them, although it did not reach full blossom until they were uplifted by the Genorri, and given the rudiments of a culture.

The Rosahomid is ‘born’ when a seed-pod is formed within the roots of their parent tree, eventually working its way to the surface, where it flowers, unfolding to release the young Rosahomid. Shortly after birth, the newborn creature releases a powerful pheremone, calling the ‘adults’ nearest the tree to come and become its ‘parents’. Childhood for these creatures is brief at best, a mere four to five terran years before they are expected to fend for themselves through out their adolescence of approximately two years. At six or seven, they begin to be considered adults. Typically, within the year after adulthood, the Rosahomid will mate, and lay its seeds in the ground. Truly hermaphroditic, any given Rosahomid ‘adult’ may reproduce with any other Rosahomid ‘adult’.

With the gene-engineering impressed by the Genorri, they no longer die after their reproductive cycle is completed, and are free to live the full span of their lives, which may last up to a total of forty terran years, including childhood.

Rosahomid sight and hearing are both extremely rudimentary. Their compound eyes are far better at detecting motion than discerning shape, although they are minimally capable of this, made only more difficult by universal green-blue colorblindness. Hearing, too is very poor, barely enough to handle basic linguistic need, as both hearing and speech organs were grafted on to the basic system by the civilization that uplifted them. These basic senses are augmented by truly fantastic senses of scent and feel. Much as a shark may smell blood in the water from miles away, the Rosahomid can smell even the faintest traces within the air, and their language is augmented by their own pheremones, as well as the ability to quite literally feel the breeze from the slight gestures they make in the air to further augment their language.

While technically omnivorous, whenever possible, the Rosahomid will prefer to eat a diet of simple grains and grasses. Further, they are capable of photosynthesis, though this is not enough to fully feed them, only extending their ability to survive without eating.

Cultural Information

Having been uplifted into full sentience by another race, the Rosahomid have been deeply imprinted and shaped by their parent race. So much has been done for them, along the path, that though they are no longer guided by their former masters, they still retain icons and pictures of prominent individuals, worshiping them as something akin to a demi-god.

Because of the triple influence of their former masters, their brief lifespans, and the ultimately self-sacrifical nature of their natural lives, the Rosahomid have little concept of personal possession, individual accomplishment, or the like. Because of this, they have little individual motivation to act for themselves, however, the same influences tend to cause them to act for the good of the community and the next generation. They tend to congregate in large groups produced from the same tree, calling this extended number their ‘family’, and all tend to work towards the good of both the nebulous family, as well as the tree which gave birth to them.

In their natural state, the Rosahomid tend towards communal life, with single strong minds or small groups of the same coming to the fore to act as the group’s direction or head. While they will listen to and obey this head, loyalty is not to ‘her’, but rather to the group as a whole, and orders that are obviously deletorious to the group will be disobeyed.

Technologically, the Rosahomid still largely rely on the gifts of their uplifters, having at best a nebulous grasp of physics, chemistry, and mathematics. Advancement in these fields is slow, and will, in most games, lag behind to well behind the majority of other races. Many of their starships are older, purchased from their old masters or the other races, cobbled together, rickety fleets of only Infinity-know-what. However, they have a natural talent for agrarian development and terraforming, and are able to turn even the poorest of worlds into paradises in incredibly short order.

Should they become involved in warfare, they will generally disdain the ship-to-ship combat and heavy energy weapons of the elder races, preferring instead to board enemy ships, or to lure their enemies planet side, so that they may utilize effective bio-chemical weaponry. They will also readily enter combat as marines or ground troops, wielding simple slug throwers or low grade laser weaponry, leaving them at a certain disadvantage. Yet, they are often willing to sustain losses that would horrify the elder races, without so much as a blink of a compound eye. They are, after all, going to die shortly anyway.

Because their population is capable of growing in explosions, as each successive wave of new trees matures, the Rosahomid are extremely aggressive colonizers, laying claim to every world they can lay their tentacles upon. Even the most marginal of worlds will be taken, so long as there is sufficient sunlight for their trees to grow in.

Physical Standing an average of four foot seven tall, with short, barrel like bodies, the Salvorathan have a strong resemblance to the dwarves of legend, though these dwarves were carefully designed by the bio-molders that sent out the first seed-ships into deep space. Carefully designed for the rigors of zero gravity and high radiation environments, the Salvorathan are comfortable in situations that would be lethal to Puregene Humans, with each variation from Puregene meant to give survivability to them, while the corporations that created them were careful to psych-imprint the love of space into them.

The first of space’s dangers the designers chose to address was the high radiation dosages inflicted by space travel. The Salvorathan’s first line of defense against this is his skin pigmentation. Dry and scaly, his skin ranges from gunmetal black to royal purple, flush with various melatonin and chlorophyll cross-derivatives that actually harness incoming gamma and x-ray radiation in order to generate various energy-suppling molecules. His second line is his physiology. With his internal organs redistributed in order to create a volume with a minimal surface area, he is exposed to less radiation, on average, than a Puregene. Finally, as a tertiary defense, his immune system is designed to purge any cells unable to make certain identifying proteins, serving as a partial defense against the most common cancers.

Second, the designers turned their attention to zero-gravity. First, careful manipulation of the circulation system tweaks the body’s blood pressure to be optimal in zero gravity, rather than 1 g. Unfortunately, this same design makes planetary gravity extremely unpleasant for the Salovarathan, as the blood in their body rushes to the legs, leaving them light headed, in a condition known as ‘Gravity drunkeness.’ Their skeletal system has likewise been tweaked in order to prevent the calcium leeching common in Puregenes during extended micro-gravity travel. A small redesign of the sinuses and ears, combined with a typical zero-gravity upbringing prevents vertigo and lack of orientation. Lastly, a small pressurizing organ allows an extremely limited form of natural rocket propulsion, enough to make sure that they are never ‘stranded’, though the force afforded by this organ is very small indeed.

Lastly, the designers turned to the effects of brief exposures to vacuum. The hard scaly skin of the Salvorathan allows extremely limited evaporation, and nictating membranes can close over the eyes and throat, purely through reflexive action. These closures are alway proceeded by an exhalation of any remaining air in the lungs. The liver of the Salvorathan pulls double duty, scrubbing excess oxygen from the bloodstream, where it stores it in the form of certain organic peroxides. A Salvorathan that has been breathing earth standard air for at least eight hours previous can survive up to ten minutes of hard vacuum, without suffering the ill-effects that set into a Puregene almost immediately upon exposure.

Society:

The Salvorathan do not have a unified ‘society’ or racial language as such, tending to take on many of the social customs of whatever Puregene society they have the most exposure to. However, there are certain common threads. As many ships are now crewed by single Salvorathan families, a sort of clannish substructure has appeared. Arranged marriages are common between ships that ply the same lanes, while the complex web of duties that appear in a ship only serve to strengthen the familial bond between Salvorathans.

The original love of space impressed upon them still holds, as well, and few Salvorathans choose to be landers, so long as the option of travel or at least station-side duty is available to them.

While the Salvorathan have no homeworld, as such, there are several stations of gathering throughout known space, where Salvorathans tend to congregate, though mostly for the purpose of finding their next employment. Lacking a homeworld or nation of their own, the Salvorathan tend to fall back on the patterns imprinted on their ancestors, often signing on with any available ship as mercenary pilots, engineers, and astrogators. While there is nothing in their genetics to dictate these, the education tends to pass from parent to child, stimulated by the commonly space-born childhood. Given the choice, a Salvorathan will typically prefer to serve on a massively constructed, heavy ship, the sort that can, theoretically, plow over most other ships and keep on going. Most are not given the choice.

The bizaare liver chemistry they possess also turns out to be extremely effective in eliminating alcohol and many other toxins from the blood stream, though that was never the intention of the designers. Like their fantastic counterparts, the average ‘space dwarf’ can drink even the most tolerant of Puregenes under the table. It’s an amusing game to many of them, in fact.

Puregenes tend to be tolerantly respectful of the Salvorathan, as while they are essentially a gene-engineered products, they have none of the mind-crippling functions that many of the other gene-products have, and are both expressly useful and out-of-sight on a day to day basis for the majority of the planet-bound Puregenes. Likewise, as Salvorathan interaction with Puregenes is relatively restricted, and usually in manners that the early psych-imprints marked as preferred, there is little resentment of the Puregenes.

Appearance
The Centaurim at first glance look very much like the typical centaur archetype, that is a human torso complete with head and arms attached to the shoulder of an equine body. This is where similarity to the traditional centaurs end. The joining of the human and equine parts upon closer inspection is artificial, the skin and muscle held in place by stitching of the flesh. If the muscle were flayed away, the grafting continues into the skeletal system. The neck vertebrae of the horse are fused and reinforced to hold the weight of the human torso, while the human spine is also reinforced at the anchor point between the two species’ bodies. While the number of horse bloodlines and human races are quite diverse, the Centaurim were manufactured almost exclusively from the Aberthol steppe horse, and the associated Aberthol nomads who rode said horses to tend their herbs of bison and half feral cattle.

The Creation Process
Ideal candidates to become Centaurim are generally the team of an Aberthol Nomad, and his horse. The importance of the horse to said nomads ensures that riders have very strong bonds with their mounts, many being treated better than the wives of the nomads. Once a horse and rider are both captured alive, the process can begin.

The nomad, preserved by life oriented magics, is literally chopped in half just above the pubic bone. The legs, hips, and now redundant viscera are discarded or given to necromantic students to practice on. The horse is given a more gruesome treatment, the life force of the animal bonded to a temporary object. The head and most of the neck vertebrae are removed and the two spines are fused together, though a small range of movement is still allowed by this heavy joint. Arteries are connected with fine sewing, nerves aligned, and the esophagus is lengthened to connect the human mouth to the horse gut. The spirit of the animal is reintroduced and with soul altering magics, the horse and rider are literally melded into a single mind and spirit. This melding is fairly traumatic, turning decades of human memory and years of horse thoughts into a jumbled mess of incoherent dreams and half ideas.

Once completed, the new Centaurim is subjected to a battery of motor tests, administration of mind controlling magics and geased behavior programs. The monster is left to brood upon its condition, mixing the impulsive nature of the horse stew with the latent outrage of the human soul mangled. It takes a few days to two weeks before a proper level of anger and rage is reached, and usually twice as long to ‘break’ the new Centaurim to the commands of the handlers who will tend the beast and care for it before and after battle.

Care and Maintenance
The largest problem faced by the Centaurim is the small capacity of the human mouth and the large caloric needs of the equine body. Specially prepared high calorie and high fiber meals are brewed by the Handlers to reduce the rapid wear and tear of the small and weak human teeth. The rest of maintenance is based along the lines of horse care, keeping up iron horse shoes, keeping the tail and coat clean and the like. The human side needs less physical attention, but more mental stimulation. Much like a child, the Centaurim are entertained by bright colors and toys like balls and the like.

Things can become problematic when a Centaurim is filled with the urge to mate. While mares are able to handle the demands of a Centaurim, the things that are begotten in the womb are always stillborn and most of the time kill the mare in the process. This is the lesser of the problems are the Centaurim are generally only attracted to human females, few of which are physically capable of mating with a Centaurim. Those who are subjected to this, most often slaves and enemy captives either are emotionally and physically scarred for life, or die from trauma and internal bleeding.

Arms and Armor
When the call to war comes, the Handlers dress the Centaurim in custom made plate and chain barding. This is a hybrid of human and horse armors with the strongest protection being for the jointure of the neck/torso. Donning this barding takes fifteen to twenty minutes, and just as long to remove after a battle. Killing a Centaurim is generally a tough matter, as a chest shot to the human torso can only harm organs secondary to the larger and stronger heart and lungs of the equine body. Only the head is vulnerable, and a strong helm is often enough to compensate for this weakness. The most common weapons of the Centaurim are the lance, curved falchion sword, and the horseman versions of the hammer, pick, and flail. Given the stoutness of the barding, shields are only seen when archers are known to be about in large numbers.

Engines of War
Created by the morally bankrupt western provinces of the Old World and associated Empire, the Centaurim were made to be living breathing war machines. Larger and stronger than men, and smarter than horses, they were ideally created to hunt and kill nun-humanoids such as trolls, ogres, minotaurs and the like. In this role, they performed exceptionally well. Mentalists considered the violence demonstrated by Centaurim in battle as a vent for the rage generated by their fused souls. Given this unnatural condition Centaurim never tired of battle, but instead grew increasingly difficult to handle without regular bouts of hunting and warfare.

The death of a Centaurim is a considerable loss, taking into account the time and effort required to capture, create, and ‘tame’ the beasts before they are ready to battle. Consequently, despite their bloodlust, few were ever thrown away in pointless or suicidal battles. In the event that a Centaurim was slain in battle, a necromancer familiar with the creature’s hybrid soul could be on hand to reanimate the corpse of the creature as a greater form of undead, a zombie of exceptional strength, physical fortitude, and violent disposition.

Variations and OdditiesFemale Centaurim - Few were made as the needed emotional bond between horse and rider was patently missing among the Aberthol nomads. This primarily stemmed from the fact that local taboo forbade women from touching or handling the horses, or even seeing the stallions of the tribe during the menses. Those that were made were unstable even by Centaurim standards, though the few that did survive the transition were generally used in ceremonial roles and following the Nightmare war, no more were ever made.

Other Animal Hybrids - certainly unusual and cruel, other races, notably halfling and gnomes were subjected to fusion with goats, pigs, ponies and other animals. All of these ventures were failures, as none of these races shared a bond with the given animals they were whipstitched to.

Other Horse Breeds - Experimentation showed that other human stock and horse breeds could be used, but none came close to the synchronization ratio of the Abertholian nomads and their horses. It was also discovered that for the ritual to work, both specimens had to be adults, past puberty and no longer growing. The lifespan of the horse also limited the lifespan of the Centaurim, with old age crippling the creature after fewer than 30 years, assuming a stallion no more than a six to eight years old was used in the creation process.

Of the Abertholians
Ranging across the North-Western highlands, the Abertholian natives are relatively peaceful nomads. They are certainly able to defend themselves in times of war, but are content to follow their herds of bison, unlike the savage and cannibalistic Tuyewera Nomads, whom all loath and hunt on suspicion. The heartless magi and necrosurgeons who build the Centaurim tend to ‘harvest’ their stock with as little attention as possible, and rather than entire nomad toumans vanishing, hunting parties instead go missing, or trips to sell horses to other tribes end with all parties gone. For the most part, the Abertholians will lament their dead and speak tales of keeping close to the camps, never traveling alone, and fearing the unknown monsters of the plains.

This selectivity by the magi is in no way based on any sort of squishy sentimentality. If they took too many of the natives they would damage the breeding pool of their human and equine stock. It is better to be selective and not let the herd see when the butcher comes to take his piece. For the most part, the butchers do quite well, plying their trade until the Nightmare war blasts across Aberthol, slaughtering magi and nomad alike, leaving behind naught but shattered fields of ice and smoking ghost lakes.

Plot Hooks

The Tomb - Rather than encounter the standard rank and file of zombie guardians placed in a royal tomb, instead a group of four Centaurim revenants stands vigil over a great warrior’s body. Strong, aggressive, and fast, these zombies should provide a strong and painfully unnatural foe for combat heavy PCs

The Rosy Codex - named for its rose like color, this diabolical book details the process to create the magnificent and twisted Centaurim warriors. With ample time, a wizard could take victims from overlooked tribes to create deadly warbands of Centaurim Brigands to terrorize the countryside. A variation would be a just kingdom making Centaurim from horse thieves and criminals and impressing them into the army to fight ‘the evil’

The Horror - more for a one on one game, a horse loving PC is themselves mutilated into a Centaurim and rather than being completely broken escapes. The resulting adventure can end in tragedy, of branch into a larger group affair with the Horror now serving as a living cavalry beast.

-They are short and stocky, as usual. However, they are encased in armor. No man has ever seen a Duerga’s flesh, and it is a good question as to whether they actually have flesh. The visors of their helms reveal only darkness. Unlike usual fantasy dwarves, beards are not important to them. They may not even have body hair.

-They are supernatural beings, not just stunted, surly mountain dwellers. They are the sons (maybe daughters, though I was thinking that they were all male) of the god Durgi, or a similar earth god. As such, they have semidivine powers over metal and, to a lesser extent, stone. They are still mortal though, and are in many other ways deficient to Men.

-The element for Duerga is metal, not earth. It goes better with the whole “encased in armor” thing.

-The Duerga have a very verbose, heavy language.

-The Duerga dwell in the heart of Mount Thunderclap, a great volcano in which they have built a massive metal stronghold. The Duerga name for Mount Thunderclap (and by extension, the stronghold) is Szahrnevarbenarch, meaning “Mountain of the Wise”.

-The traditional Duerga weapon is the hammer. When they must fight, the Duerga arm themselves in round shields and carry hammers.

-The oldest Duerga, who are also the leaders, are called Bcharnegstenevarhn, “The Wisest Of All”. They rule Szahrnevarbenarch.

-I don’t envision the Duerga as the surly, grunting, beer-guzzlers, I envision them more as very quiet, contemplative, slow to act, almost Zen-like in their calm, meditative, spiritual, etc.

Can anybody help me out here? I know I have a lot already, but I’m sure there’s some way that you can aid me.

Few men truly know the Earth Children and their enigmatic rulers, the Loresingers. These keepers of ancient secrets are among the greatest allies, and the most subtle enemies, that humanity could ever know.

The EncounterHis quarry had eluded him for hours, but the hunter had doggedly pursued it. The magnificent stag almost seemed to tease him, leading him deeper and deeper into the forbidden thickets of the Sacred Forest, woodland forbidden to all but those initiated into the ancient pagan rites of the country folk. Uninterested in such country superstition, the man pressed on after his prey.

Deep in the forest, he was surprised to hear a musical, high-pitched voice call to him. “You move well through the forest, Westron Man,” said the mysterious speaker.

Looking around, he spotted him. He was small, resembling a slender dwarf more than anything else, but with skin of a deep olive tone and a tangled mat of hair the color of autumn grass. Clad in robes of forest green decorated with rich embroidery of ivory and scarlet silk, the diminutive man had the amused bearing of a king watching his courtiers at play.

“And who may you be, O’ Child of the Wildwood?” he asked. “Are you some spirit come to test me, or perhaps some kin of the elvenkind?”

His laugh was like sparkling bells in the crisp air. “I am all and none of these things, innocent child of an ignorant age. I am Brightdance, a loresinger of the Ancient Brethren, one of those anointed by the gods to bring the lore of the Earth Delvers into the light and preserve the stories of the Forest Lords after their long age comes to an end.”

“A loresinger? You? One of the Lords of the Forest Mysteries?” the hunter asked, confused.

“The ill-informed bards of men tell such stories of our kind, yes, but our people bear little resemblance to the mighty folk of your bards’ fanciful tales. We are those chosen of the gods to remember, chosen of the gods to return the land to a time of harmony, when the Lords of the Forest and the Kings of Stone ruled together in peace and plenty,” he responded, as his hands produced some sort of puzzle, a device of bright silver and gleaming lapis. His fingers danced as he rapidly twisted and turned the strange item’s beads and projections.

“So, your people want to restore the harmony between elves, dwarves, and men?” the man asked, hoping to understand.

The loresinger concentrated on his puzzle as he answered. “Sadly, no. Once this forest covered the entire realm; the children of men played in its shade. Now it has been diminished, cut down by men for their firewood, and their ships, and their farms. There can be no true harmony with the children of men,” he concluded as his completed puzzle changed shape and assumed a new symmetry. Strange and ominous creatures, fanged and lethal, began to emerge from the underbrush on every side.

With a chilling finality, the loresinger’s musical voice sadly asked, “Did you have any tales that you wished to share with me before you are slain?”

The Earth Children
The tiny folk known as the “Earth Children” chronicle the lore of the “Earth Delvers” and the “Forest Walkers”, remembering a time when all races honored the “Great Harmony”. In their vast hidden libraries, they keep the wisdom of centuries safe, drawing it forth to bring harmony between the squabbling races of the land. They dwell in hidden strongholds, deep within the forests or beneath the mountains’ roots. Allied with the Courts of the Elves and the Dwarven Lords, they travel among these larger races, sharing wisdom and collecting it.

Born of the Land
Earth children appear similar to dwarves, but are slighter and tend to be beardless or trim their beards short. Most have long and unruly hair, in any of the colors common to dry grass or tree bark. Their skin varies in color, with olive complexions being common. The darker-skinned among the earth children may have skin tones of a rich leafy green, while the more pale sport golden hues that may even resemble the skin of humanity.

Earth children tend to dress in long robes in natural colors. They decorate these robes with panels of elaborate embroidery and beadwork; particularly precious or well–made panels may be passed down for hundreds of years, carefully cut from damaged robes and attached to new ones. Those familiar with the different families and social groups among the earth children can easily identify an earth child’s lineage and status from the decorations on his or her robes. Each of the motifs used is traditional, with the artist attempting to make the robe’s motifs unique, but still identifiable.

Dwelling in small villages, earth children live apart from the elves and dwarves, leaving interaction with the larger races to their loresingers. These villages tend to blend in with their environment, nestling among the tallest trees when built in a forest or tunneled into the earth when in the mountains.

Each of the villages of the earth children is ruled day-to-day by a council of elders chosen from among the ranks of the loresingers. These elders may not be loresingers themselves, but invariably defer to their authority. They oversee the many cooperative projects of this secretive people, who require their permission for anything that will substantially alter the land around the village. Before a villager can deal with any other race, before they can plant or harvest anything, or before they can alter their home, they are expected to gain the permission of the elders or loresingers. Elders and loresingers are not exclusively male or female; the earth children are as often led by their women as by men.

Earth children reproduce infrequently, only allowing themselves to have children when their numbers have been depleted by war, disease, or other mishap. A long-lived race, they greatly value the few children that they permit themselves to have. The loresingers decide when more children will be permitted, choosing from the prospective parents by lot, then sharing with them the mystical herbs needed for earth children to reproduce. Although the loresingers supposedly choose who will become parents randomly, it is an open secret that these drawings are seldom truly random, with the loresingers often excluding the tokens of couples that they disapprove of. Those seeking to have children without the loresingers’ approval risk exile from their villages.

The Loresingers
The leaders and rulers of the earth children are a specially chosen and rigorously trained group known as Loresingers. Veterans of an arduous process of training and indoctrination, these leaders are masters of various magical arts, as well as more mundane skills of administration and governance. Each is a skilled orator and poet, trained to recall vast amounts of information accurately.

When they approach adulthood, each of the earth children is given the opportunity to undergo a grueling ordeal, the Ritual of the Loresingers. A test of their intellect, will, and desire to serve, those overcoming this series of tests and challenges are given the opportunity to apprentice to the masters of their kind, the loresingers. Of the many young earth children that attempt the tests, only a handful emerge victorious. Each loresinger then chooses an apprentice from that select number.

The training of a loresinger is itself a rigorous process, involving the memorization of vast stores of information. Ancient histories and genealogies, the secret lore of various crafts, and an impressive assortment of mystic knowledge must all be retained perfectly. Loresingers are expected to master the art of public debate and oratory, and must be able to perfectly perform the ancient songs that preserve the philosophies and history of their people. In addition to these achievements, they are expected to each master secrets of magical lore that make the most skilled of them formidable mages.

Once they have completed their training, the prospective loresingers are required to apply to one of the sects of the Mystic Brethren for admittance. Until they are accepted into these groups, they are not considered a full-fledged loresinger. Each of these sects has its own particular preferences and philosophies, so some qualified candidates are refused recognition as a loresinger merely because of their philosophical or political ideas, rather than any failure to master their craft or other flaw.

Archives of the Loresingers
Hidden within the heart of the forest and tunneled beneath the most isolated of mountains, the loresingers keep the secrets of both the elves and the dwarves. Even when these two races have been torn by war, the Loresingers were inviolate, free to journey between them and discharge their ancient trust. The hidden lore of two races lies within these secret archives, saved for a future time when harmony will return to the land.

Each of these archives has three aspects: The Outer Archive is accessible to all who ask, the Hidden Archive is only available to those who pass certain tests of wit and will, and the Secret Archive is only open to the Oathsworn, fanatic initiates of the Mystic Brethren. The lore kept in the Outer Archive holds few secrets, for it only contains the information that is available to all and could be used to harm none. Many secrets are stored in the Hidden Archives, but those that seek to access it must pass several tests meant to ensure that their intentions are pure; only those whose purposes serve the cause of harmony will be allowed within these secret halls. The most dangerous secrets are stored within the Secret Archives, the very existence of which is a closely guarded mystery of the loresingers. These strange places don’t resemble libraries at all, for their secrets are closely shielded. The volumes within are magically guarded and hidden: Held by magical protectors, they can be brought forth only with the proper rituals and obeisance. The Secret Archives tend to resemble summoning chambers more than anything else, purified areas to which the volumes of hidden lore can be called when needed. At any other time, the texts are stored in spaces outside normal reality, accessible only by the protective entities that guard them.

These archives are well-guarded, both by fanatic Oathsworn guardians of the Mystic Brethren and by traps and puzzles both subtle and lethal. Those attempting to steal the collected lore within will find themselves beset by baffling magics, beguiling illusions, and hidden assassins. These hazards are in addition to the traps and tricks that test those normally seeking admittance.

The Coming of the Earth Children
The loresingers of the earth children trace their people’s origins to the time of the first elves. In their legends, when the elves first walked the land, they were flighty beings with no regard for the land and no care for the future. The gods of the land, concerned that these newcomers would come to harm, created the first earth children to record and codify the knowledge of the elves and teach them wisdom. So successful were they that the capricious elves were transformed, and became wise and noble beings.

When the dwarven races came into being, they envied the elves their little loremasters. Too stubborn to ask for aid, the dwarves bargained with dark spirits for the secrets of history and wisdom: They gained these things, but at the cost of their joy and caprice. Touched by the dwarves’ sacrifice and suffering, the earth children came to teach these things to them once more. This time, the humbled dwarves accepted their aid; they have been allied ever since.

The Loresingers’ Puzzles
Some of the stranger magics wielded by the loresingers are bound within strange puzzles that they call Arannalachi. These odd devices take many forms: Some resemble small cubes or tetrahedrons, while others look like flat game boards or small locked coffers. The devices’ effects are as varied as their appearances: They have been known to summon little-known denizens of the forest, cause plants with strange curative properties to spring forth from the nearest fertile soil, or even cause brightly colored fields resembling armor to surround the creature solving them. Puzzles of awesome power are said to exist, such as one that supposedly opened a gate to a land of mighty and terrifying demons that would torture all they encountered.

Arannalachi, whatever their form, have a few common characteristics: A puzzle must be solved to activate them, with the more powerful effects sometimes requiring days of effort to solve them. They tend to reset themselves whenever a new person touches them. They are unusually sturdy, but not invulnerable; for example, a puzzle apparently made of pieces of parchment could not be casually burned or torn, but would be destroyed if it were struck by a knife. The more complicated and powerful the puzzle, the more likely it is to have a false answer, a pattern that will cause a secondary effect. These effects are often some sort of “booby-trap”, but not always; a few puzzles have several different powers if they are manipulated properly.

The Mystic Brethren
Many different sects of Mystic Brethren influence the political and religious life of the Earth Children. Although all claim to seek the restoration of the Great Harmony, each group interprets their quest in its own way, often working against each other as each strives to assert its own vision of the true path to harmony. Also complicating the politics of the Earth Children are the groups called the Seekers of Truth, who have forsaken their people’s ancient goals and instead follow agendas all their own.

The group known as The Dark Judgment is one of the oldest brotherhoods of the Mystic Brethren. Despite their ominous name, they are a gentle and forgiving fraternity, who believe that a time of judgment is coming, when the gods will punish those who opposed harmony and welcome those seeking peace among all beings into a new realm. They oppose holding grudges and seeking advantage as obstacles to harmony.

The Ancient Brethren claim to be the oldest and most true of these mystical groups, but each of the other sects disputes this claim. They believe that the pronouncements of their sect’s leader are divinely inspired, so they tend to suffer a great deal of confusion every time their leadership changes. They generally hold to a doctrine that harmony is disrupted by races intruding on other races’ legitimate areas of interest, thus Dwarves should confine themselves to mountains, Elves to forests, and other races to their regions of origin. This sect is generally hostile to humanity, seeing them as aggressive interlopers responsible for destroying forests and upsetting harmony.

The Songbearers believe that open communication and understanding will bring harmony. They tend to travel widely, telling tales and singing songs of other lands and races. They believe that a band of heroes will arise from each race, chosen for greatness by the gods; any candidates that these loresingers meet will be secretly tested for their suitability as racial champions. Teachers and sages are often secretly funded by these folk, who use this patronage to influence them. They are especially interested in placing their members and allies in positions as tutors and advisors to nobles and other leaders.

The Keepers of the Bright Circle are considered heretical by most in the other sects. These zealots have come to believe that open war between the races will ensue before any sort of harmony is achieved. This ultimate conflict will become more destructive and lethal as more potent weapons and enchantments are developed, so they hope to instigate conflicts between the races to trigger this prophesied war before the races develop the ability to completely destroy each other. The other sects strongly disagree with their heretical interpretation of their race’s mandate, but their view has support among many of the earth children.

The Mystical Brethren of the Golden Spring search eagerly for a sign from the gods that will somehow change everything, allowing all peoples to live in harmony. They are very interested in astrology and prophecy, and often sponsor the exploration of ancient sites of mystical significance. They hope to maintain peace between the different races until circumstances change. These loresingers tend to support a virtual stasis of the status quo, believing that change tends to bring conflict with it.

The most prominent band of the Seekers of Truth is the sect known as the Wise Fists. They believe that the gods have given the earth children the wisdom of the other races in order that they can someday seize power over these races. Once in a position of dominance, they can address many of the ills that plague these contentious races, using force to end their squabbling. The other sects among the earth children see this as foolish adventurism and stand against the Wise Fists’ aggressive plans, but some of the most powerful individuals among the earth children have sympathy for their impatience.

The Oathsworn
These diminutive warriors are among the most potent and fearsome fighters that the earth children can muster. Fanatic defenders of the Mystic Brethren, each band of Oathsworn is made up of the sect’s most single minded loresingers, backed up by the Axaela, stealthy warriors that combine determined loyalty to their sect with intense training. The training of the Axaela emphasizes stealth and caution over brute force; they learn to master subtle poisons, easily hidden weapons, and cunning ambushes. Trained for tireless speed and agility, they are often lightly armored. Their equipment varies wildly; each is encouraged to develop his (or her) unique fighting style. They are often armed with magic as well as stealth and force: Strange powders and oils allow them to virtually disappear or apparently strike through solid surfaces. If the legends are true, the most powerful of these strange warriors are able to stop a man’s heart with a single light punch.

Where the Seed Happens to Fall…
A race determined to hide their presence as much as possible, the earth children practice inconspicuous forms of agriculture. Someone exploring the land around one of their small villages will discover substantial amounts of edible plants growing seemingly wild in the area; villagers living nearby will have been taught which “wild” plants can be harvested and which belong to the earth children. Similar rules apply to some of the animals in nearby forests and fish in adjacent rivers. Those taking from the earth children’s food supply will often have items taken from them, often significantly more valuable than the food that was seized.

One factor that makes this haphazard approach to agriculture possible is the earth children’s strange metabolism, which is able to gain nutrition from many foods that other races find inedible. They find many otherwise toxic mushrooms to be pleasantly spicy, for example. The earth children require little food, so are able to subsist on a diet that would reduce other races to starvation.

The Myoculturists
The earth children are known for filling tunnels or caverns with rack after rack of humus filled trays for raising mushrooms. They have developed several hybrid fungi that are unknown to other races, and these form a substantial part of the earth children’s diet. The more humble among the earth children often place these mushroom trays in their cottages, as well, so visitors may find themselves wandering among smelly trays full of compost, which may fill any extra space that the creatures have in their homes.

Among some of the earth children, these mushrooms have brightly colored and distinctive patterns on their caps. These mushrooms are skinned and the dried tops are used much like calling cards among humans. More plain mushrooms sometimes serve the place of parchment or leather; although they are not very sturdy, they can be treated to become virtually impervious to decay.

The First Ones, The Kan-Yow, are the only non constructed beings to know the face of their Creator God. They were born as the world was being made. Tutored by their God (Kanchiyonnaho), they developed a perfect society immersed in the magic of the world. The Kan-Yow breathed magic, they are saturated with it, and they are bound to it as the world itself. As the Gods have withdrawn from the Mythic Lands, as the blessing of Time has graced the World, they have become the guardians of The Magic and The World.

The First Ones, The Kan-Yow, are the only non constructed beings to know the face of their Creator God. They were born as the world was being made. Tutored by their God (Kanchiyonnaho), they developed a perfect society immersed in the magic of the world. The Kan-Yow breathed magic, they are saturated with it, and they are bound to it as the world itself. As the Gods have withdrawn from the Mythic Lands, as the blessing of Time has graced the World, they have become the guardians of The Magic and The World.

The Kan-Yow have thrived, creating a perfect society from their inherited divine wisdom. It was a utopia where no one wanted anything, all prospered and were free to explore life to its fullest. With their understanding of magic, all the elements and life could be bent to their will. Because they were created akin to the Gods, they are ageless… just beyond time’s touch.

Upon reaching perfection, there was no where for them except stagnation. Their society turned inward. They ignored the occasional touches of the divine upon the world. They ignored the new animals and animals who could speak (like Humans).

Most people think they are a myth. Yet only those who live near one of their golden enclaves, might see a handful in their lifetime.

Physical DescriptionThe Kan-Yow are tall, slender beings, possessing a grace impossible to any other lifeform since they mythic times. They are 5’8” to 7” (1.7 to 2M) in height. They weigh a scant 120 to 200 lbs (50 to 90 Kgs). The eyes of a Kan-Yo are captivating. They are nearly solid shades, with iris being just a shade darker than the sclera (white), with the colors being gold, violet, or a soft green. Their ears are large, pointed, and extend widely from the head (Anime Elf Ears). Their skin tones are exotic (probably self chosen), pale ivory or light pink are common colors. However Kan-Yow of dusty mauve, pastel green, light blue, are all more known options. Hair tends to be pale, white and gold most common, but silver and night black have been seen.

Abilities

Unaging: This means they have been alive for several thousand years. They also seem immune to all diseases.

They also will have inhuman patience, so they can sit and stare at the flower growing, unmoving, for the season.

Grace: Their dexterity and grace is off the human scale. They receive a plus equal to the maximum natural Human Dexterity bonus to all Dexterity action.

Sense: They can hear almost anything and their sight is so sensitive they can see in low light well and perfectly under starlight. They can also see and hear (and some say feel) things from father away than any Human.

Remembering: 1) When in a calm state, they can tap their vast reserve of knowledge. This allows them a huge plus to any check to know just something about any field of knowledge and lore. In calm times, this will extend to languages as well. (Those they don’t know, they can often figure out or make a good guess at).

2) Given some time to reflect on a situation, they can perform any “non modern” action without negative modifiers for lack of skill. Example: They might of ridden a horse sometime in the last three thousand years, so they just have to spend a moment to remember how. They won’t know how to pilot a new fangled Steam Jack because they are a recent invention.

Experience: First Ones have superhuman proficiency in most things they know. They will have a skill called experienced reflecting that. This skill will add 1/3 its normal skill bonus to all actions the Kan-yow has a skill for or has remembered.

Charms: By concentrating a moment and making a simple metaphysical check, they can add small pluses to any action. These people can weave spells to assist them in performance of an action the way most races breath.

Magic:1) No matter what archetype or skill set they might have, Kan-yow can learn magic as if they are a magical specialist.

2) They may “remember” common spells and such much the same way they remember skills.

MotivationsKan-Yow are unmotivated normally. They live in a perfect society without want or need. Yet they are guardians of magic and the world. So if there is a threat to magic or the world, they will sometimes look up, sniff, and send something out to “deal with it”.

That is right, send something. The Kan-Yow Humans see are not true Kan-Yow. They are constructs a True Kan-Yow created, as not to risk themselves. These constructs come in two flavors: Copies and Tools. PC Kan-Yow would be either a copy or a tool.

Copies are just that, a magically created clone, sent out to do the job. (They may be the copy of the Kan-Yow as a young self.) If it returns, its memories might be re-incorporated into the original.

Tools are magically created Kan-Yow bodies with various memories and skills from their creator implanted. These are the Young Kan-yow that sometimes emerge from the Enclaves to get some experience.

Both copies and tools will have all the standard Kan-Yow abilities. It is possible that you might encounter one or more copies of a given Kan-Yow out in the world, but their varied experienced will make them different people. Tools of the same creators, will meet and call each other siblings.

Note: Nobody ever tells anyone about the fact that they are “artificial”. It is very impolite.

So Kan-Yow seen are very mission oriented. They have a job to do and it is their reason to be to do it. (Copies might stray a little bit… if some interesting experience comes up). Of course, their mission might be a bit broad (stop the necromancy), so they will accept some down time.

Deep in the mountains, beyond where the trails end, one can find collossal stairways and long, cliffside roads, massive arched bridges and huge vaulted tunnels, spanning thousands of miles. These roads, though seemingly deserted, are closely watched by their creators, the reclusive and strange Iothun (“yoh-thoon”).

Deep in the mountains, beyond where the trails end, one can find collossal stairways and long, cliffside roads, massive arched bridges and huge vaulted tunnels, spanning thousands of miles. These roads, though seemingly deserted, are closely watched by their creators, the reclusive and strange Iothun (“yoh-thoon”).

Iothun average around 12 to 15 feet tall. They are somewhat human-like in stature, though they also share a posture not unlike that of a gorilla, with a hunched appearance given by huge shoulders and thick bull neck, and rather long arms. Their bodies are covered in a thick pelt of hair which covers all but the face, neck, chest, and palms. Their hands and feet are large, with thick, sturdy digits. Their faces are also gorilla-like in appearance, with flat, long-nostrilled noses, slightly protruding muzzles, and small, squinting eyes. Their faces, though, have a strange human capacity about them that cannot be denied.

Iothun life is organized into tribes (called Societies) of several families each. Each family has an ancestor who is regarded as divine, and who is said to have sprung from the Origin Caves in the Heart of the World fully-formed and armed with the family’s holy items. Each family keeps these ancestors in high regard, and keep intricate and breathtaking family histories of deeds and ancestors in what is sometimes called Iothun heraldry, though this is a misnomer. These incredibly intricate patterns can only be interpreted truly by an Iothun, for their complexity rivals even the most labyrinthine of Celtic knots.

Each Society (tribe) has a totem-stone. There are Quartz Societies, Granite Societies, Jade Societies, Redstone Societies, Basalt Societies, Flint Societies- Societies for all kinds of stone near which Iothun live. The Iothun revere their Society’s totem-stone as a holy substance. They craft their ancestral plaques of this stone, and, seeking to emulate the holy mountains from which they were born, they carve Giant’s Faces from the totem-stone. These are roughly-carven facemasks, chipped from the Society’s chosen stone, which are worn by all Iothun of a given Society, except in informal occasions. These masks are carved so that from many angles, the Iothun’s face is a mass of granite, a geode of quartz, a wind-carved knob of sandstone. They are somewhat disturbing to look upon in this state, but careful examination can assure that these Giant’s Faces are merely cunning stone (These have given rise to a myth that Iothun are made of stone).

The Iothun hang these family histories as stone insets upon their armor, the famed Giant’s Mail, created by Iothun smiths in their hidden cities. The Giant’s Mail are tunics of metal scales or discs into which are sewn stone insets in the Society’s totem-stone, which are carved with the individual Iothun’s ancestral heraldry. Giant’s Mail, adorned with these heraldic plaques and embellished with tiny toolings upon the scales, is both strong and beautiful.

The Iothun cities have been seen by very few, and fewer still have lived to tell the tale. At the hub of the long mountain roads and stairs, there lie entire mountains, carved with artificial cliffs, walks, paths, and stairs, all leading to and fro across the face of the peaks, from one great stone-carven portico to the next. These porticos lie open at all times, roofed entrance-platforms to the vaulted burrow-houses of the Iothun, hewn from living rock and warmed by meager fires, for the Iothun are a most hardy folk. Any given city will hold from 2 to 6 tribes/Societies of Iothun.

Below ever Iothun city is the holiest spot of all, called the Heart of the Mountain. This miles-long vault is the location of all a tribe’s dead. The honored predecessors, upon death, are inducted into the ranks of the holy ancestors, and are carried on a long funeral procession down the endless stairs to the Heart of the Mountain. They are arrayed in a small (for a Iothun) cell carved from the mountain’s rock, where they are dressed in their finest Mail and their Society Mask. Their favored belongings are placed all about them, as well as a pot containing the spiritual food necessary for the departed to survive the journey to their Ancestors at the Heart of the World. Their bodies, sealed into the cells with walls which are carved with their personal heraldry, are slowly mummified. The Iothun revere their ancestors as holy beings who have become one with the Earth, who are present in all the stones and mountains around them.

OTHER RANDOM NOTE
The artsy style that I was going for was sort of Maya-ish in appearance- stylized, formal, with lots of glyphs, and ritual poses, and curling borders and such.

A glance at the gauges in the suit-organism’s cybernetic HUD, and she nodded. The air looked clean, despite the foreign world, despite the presence of the hulking alien wreck. She cracked the helm the suit, and beneath the pale light of the yellow sun above, her sharply lined face came into view. Darkly pigmented, a deep, rich violet, her skin felt cold under this pale light, compared to the bright blue blaze of her home, her short, pale blue hair rising into the strangely gentle breeze of shockingly sweet air, drifting over pointed ears. Behind Jae’ria, three of her soldier-betas followed suit, the women smiling faintly as they tasted the atmosphere of this soft world. And, somehow, in this air, even her voice sounded soft, rather than the harsh, powerful words she would speak at home. "Tcht. We have a mission, we cannot play around as if we were men! Tanna, blow the hatch. Sca’moi, you are on point. Kanish, keep us advised of bio-threats! They were alive enough to send out what looks like a distress signal, the stupid bahkt, they might be alive enough to fight!" "Yes, Captain-Mistress!" The three barked as one. To hesitate to obey the Captain-Mistress was unthinkable. Mutiny, after all, she could punish by death.

A brief bit of fiddling, and bio-explosives were planted, the fuse was lit. It was with a screeching blast that the alloy door tore away, leaving them room to step inside. The breath of the Captain-Mistress caught in her throat as she stepped inside, and she looked about, blinking. So.. much.. metal! Were these aliens truely so strange as to ignore the power of life? And what -was- that strange smell? "No motion, Captain-Mistress." "Or living-signs. Walls read as combination of metals, purified stone, and extremely strange, well, bio-residues. I doubt my scanners can penetrate a single bulkhead." "Then we explore the old fashioned way."

Jae’ria sighed softly, as she awoke the weapons-implant in her suit’s right arm, diamond-bone talons extending. This smell put her on edge, and the alienness of all this metal, that wasn’t helping. Slowly, the four picked their way through the derelict, scowling all the way, taking records of the strange runes inscribed on each door, until they reached a large room, with many pods visible through the doors. "Captain-Mistress, there is a beam of infrared light crossing the door. It may be the alien’s equivalent of an alarm-eye. I am also registering alien bio-signs in the pods." With an annoyed gesture, the Captain pulled up short, irritation written across her face.

The smell was strongest here, she was certain of that. The air still registered as safe, but she swore she was beginning to become feverish. Perhaps that is why she couldn’t think straight. "... I’ll trip it." Replacing her soldier-betas would be too much of a pain, this far out. If she died, her sisters on homeworld would know the danger, they would get ready for war. Curse it! She was thinking like a male! But all she could do now was trip the wire. So she stepped across the threshhold, her weapon held low, her body ready to pounce. Indeed, the light-line was a trap!

And as the metal pods swung open, she stood, tensed, waiting, watching. And as her eyes focused on the first to emerge, she shouted, her dark cheeks suddenly flushing, as she realized what the smell was. It was the aliens, and they were… "Sisters! We have found males!" Her eyes darted among the pale beings, even as one of the males started to step forwards, tapping his chest and saying something. Five male aliens. One that she thought might be female, but wasn’t certain. If it was a female, she would just have to understand, for the URGE was upon them.
—Full Description

The Kel’Regar female, the only variety that a human is very likely to meet in space, runs a touch shorter than human average, and is more slender of build, yet muscular. Her skin ranges from chocolate brown to midnight blue, full of dark pigmentations that deny the harsh sunlight. Her hair and eyes are much the same range of colors, her eyes narrowed and having pronounced epicanthal folds, while her ears, set lower than a humans, are whittled to sharp points.

She is highly aggressive in all her ways, for the natural resources of the poison jungle she calls home are so rarely useful that there was a time aeons ago when she was forced to compete with her own mate for food and water. Once, it was not uncommon for a female to kill, cook, and devour her mate even while bearing his children! In modern times, this aggression is channeled through a highly complex system of ritual and law, which dictates all the interactions between women, so that their species could survive the fierce competition. Eternally nomadic, no more than small groups of females can tolerate each other for very long, and they tend to wander around first their world, and now space in these tiny groups. While there is no biological barrier to her living four hundred years or more, few females celebrate their two hundredth birthday, usually finding a way to die beforehand. There is a strict structure to these bands, with arcane rituals and strange challenges determining the alpha female of the band. Within the band, her word is law, so long as it does not contradict the Laws of the Ancients, which codify the interactions of the band with each other.

The Kel’Regar male, meanwhile, is taller than a man, yet slightly stocky, and in some ways, would be considered to be ‘soft’ by many humans, and certainly by the Kel’Regar female. Running, on average, a hair over two meters tall, and nearly a hundred and twenty kilos, this ‘softness’ does not run to the same kind of fat as a human, for it deposits in the muscle like a stag’s. Fair of skin and hair, many males would be considered albinos by human, were it not for the sparkling color of their eyes. Physically, their face is much akin to the females, though generally softer and rounder, compared to the lean, angular female.

Evolved, as it were, as a source of both seed and feed for the female, the male’s survival abilities have always lagged behind the female’s meaningfully. Until, that is, the advent of tools, agriculture, and language. Now, the males serve as the race’s repository of science, technology, and artistry, congregating in walled communes, into which the females can be let into at their leisure. A male Kel’Regar typically lives to be about three hundred.

Both sexes have a poorer vision for light and detail than a human will, for their sight is keyed in on motion and movement instead. Their hearing, likewise, is keyed in on changes in volume, distance, and direction, rather than the harmony and dissonance that a human can hear so well. However, foremost among their senses is their sense of smell, allowing them to identify many complexities of their environment.

Society
Kel’Regar society is a complex weave of ritual, desire, and need, and is nearly impenetrable to humans who are likely to encounter them. It is a delicate weaving of the nomadic fierceness of the female of the species, and the sacrificial communal tendencies of the male. The center piece of all, however, is generally the male’s communes.

A typical commune may hold anywhere from a few score to several hundred males, rarely even a thousand. They are often a small complex of buildings, surrounded by many acres of farmland, which is ringed by a high wall, defended by the organic technologies of the Kel’Regar. Within the commune, the males practice a comparatively simple life of farming, philosophy, and artistry. The advance of technology also comes from within the communes, for two potential reasons, the first being the advancement of philosophy, while the second is request from the females.

Each commune has associated with it a number of nomadic female bands, often roughly even in number with the number of males within the commune. These women first foraged and hunted the areas near the communes, later mining and partially industrializing them. They also may serve as traders between communes, gleefully working one off the other.

Interaction between male and female is also highly ritualized. A female may only enter an enclave under two conditions. A lone female may be invited into the commune for trade purposes. Under this invitation, she is confined to a small area of the enclave set aside for this purpose, during which she must wear a special mask, which blocks out her potent sense of smell, so that she might keep her mind on the task at hand. Secondly, a band of females may request entry to an enclave in order to breed. At the gate, they must surrender all weapons, equipment, and even clothing, before they are led to a certain building inside the complex. For the trip, they must don the scent-concealing mask, but this may be removed once they enter, and are locked within. Inside this building, and only inside this building, they are permitted to follow their instinct, the tremendously potent desires unleashed. While it is no longer common for females to actually eat the males, deaths during mating are not nearly as uncommon as the males would prefer.

Due to a peculiar quirk of genetics among the Kel’Regar, these meetings most frequently result in the birth of twins, one male, one female, while quadruplets and sextuplets are rare, but not unheard of. Any odd number of children being born is always the result of a partially failed pregnancy. Males are left at the nearest enclave, while females are raised by the band their mother belongs to, typically leaving the band to find her own around the fifteenth year of her life - While in ancient times, both male and female reached sexual maturity in about fourteen years, most modern males are not considered adult until their thirtieth birthday, though this may vary from commune to commune.

Even in space, this basic societal structure remains largely unchanged, with males congregating in small cities and space stations, while females continue their nomadic existence, or work in semi-tribal 'industrial communes', though on a far grander scale than ever before.

‘War’ as it is known by humans is unknown to the Kel’Regar, as the men have never needed to fight each other with any great urgency, and the females are almost incapable of organization on a military scale. When forced to fight, they will almost always devolve immediately to asymmetric guerrila warfare.

Homeworld
The fourth planet out from a brilliant white star, the world of Regar is warm and wet, nearly 80% of its surface covered in water. There is a single large continent, and the warmth and high precipitation dictates that the slim majority of the surface is jungle, with much of the rest covered in a temperate rain forest. Plant diversity is tremendous, and because the conditions favor them so, mega-flora are common.

The vast majority of the creatures of the jungles are venomous in some fashion or another, and although the Kel’Regar have evolved resistances or immunities to many of these venoms, even they must take care in this jungle. Unfortunately for the Kel’Regar, the forests of Regar have few easily domesticated plants and no easy cereal grains, making what agriculture they are able to muster primarily a thing of flowering fruits. The primary food-animal evolved with rough convergence to the earthling boar, nosing around for grubs and roots with powerful tusks.

Technology
Regar has few readily accessible deposits of metals, with many of the most valuable formations beneath miles of sea water. Instead of the art of the forge, then, the Kel’Regar took up fighting and farming with the tools that their environment gave them - the trees and creatures around them. Accordingly, Kel’Regar technology is primarily based around biological ‘devices’, first trained, then bred, and finally, gene-engineered to their purposes. While electronic technologies are known, they are still rare, and always interfaced with the familiar, comfortable biological devices. Even their starships are alive, bizaare, chitinous creatures grown around and through the Thoronic warp-cores that drive them through space - They are piloted by a specially trained Kel’Regar female, who has undergone the process of implantation, the insertion of a specially designed ‘interface’ organism that functions much the same way a cybernetic datalink does in a human.

Even weapons technology is primarily organic, the Kel’Regar fighting with living, symbiotic bone claws and strange, organic guns capable of throwing a piercing needle, or even explosive projectile, at nearly bullet-like velocities.

Relations
The Kel’Regar have a very difficult time interacting with other sentient races. Almost invariably, they trigger one of three reactions within the Kel’Regar female: Predator, Prey, or Male/Female. As the chance of meeting a female is far, far higher than the chance of meeting a male, this primal creature is the impression that the majority of other races have of the Kel’Regar, leaving them isolated.

While males are capable of suspending instinct long enough to deal with outworlders, they are completely incapable of understanding the concept of urgency or the importance of time. As a consequence, they tend to view other races as strange and quixotic, and do not often seek out contact outside their communes. For a human to step into a commune is like stepping out of this universe and into a strange, parallel one of music, song, and plants, a bewildering and disorienting experience.

Full Description
While certainly multi-morphic across their three genders, the Kth’k’k’kt all share a common body plan. Insectoid in origin, these Hive beings resemble nothing quite so much as an ant or bee scaled up to well over a meter in total length, and blended with the mythical centaur.

Though they originated in stock similar to the Earthling ant, evolution has wrought significant changes upon them. Their thorax has split into two segments, permitting a significant upwards bend in their ‘spines’, allowing their foremost limbs to become manipulative appendages, while they still ride upon the four grounded legs. While still multi-faceted, their forwards-facing eyes have managed to come together in a complex system that closely approximates the ability of the human eye, though damage to any one of the hundreds of facets may result in odd visual impairments, such as color blindness across a small arc of their vision. Their chitinous shells still form the framework of their body’s anchoring, though now, their rainbow-hued chitin is oddly segmented within, providing a strangely linked endoskeleton to go with their exoskeleton. Coming in every color of the rainbow, and a few outside it, the color patterns of the Kth’k’k’kt help identify the particular hive - all members will have permutations of a given pattern.

Unlike the ant as well, each of the hive members is capable of communicating with all other members of its immediate hive, along a certain range of deep radio frequencies. This communication is effectively mind-to-mind, and although each of the individual hivers has very little intelligence or memory capability, between the many hundreds to many millions of members in a given hive, a sort of gestalt intelligence arises. The more members that are within the hive, the more powerful the mind that arises. There is also a certain continuity of the hive mind - the removal of one mind, be it by death, distance, or interference, will only remove a few memories from the greater mind, no matter which hiver it is. A hive which suffers many fatalities, however, is a confused hive, one that will have difficulty sorting its gestalt out once more.

Three ‘genders’ can be observed within the hive, each of which is also a hard-wired caste. The caste and gender of an individual Kth’k’k’kt is determined after birth, during a larval gestation stage, through hormones and defined feeding regimens, with need determined by the hive as a whole.

The first, and most common is the male worker drone. Approximately 1.25 meters in total length, the six winged drone provides the hive with its primary tool user. Used by the hive as farmers, builders, scientists, and artists, their delicate hands make them the most useful for the common tasks of the hive.

Second is the sterile female soldier caste. Larger and sturdier than the male worker, the primary purpose of the soldier caste is to fight. Contributing slightly less brainpower to the overall hive, the soldier is none the less able to fill her roles of scouting and fighting without the mental help of the hive, relying on strong instinctive urges when outside the range of the male’s minds. Due to their low use when not at war, and rapid maturation rates, a given hive may have literally hundreds of times more drones than soldiers. A hive that frequently sees war or other stressful situations, however, may have nearly an even ratio of the two castes. Further, due to their relative lack of mental power and likely lack of life experience, the death of a soldier has a far smaller impact on the hive than the death of the worker - Because they are less important to the cluster, they are more easily expended.

The massive fertile female queen, meanwhile, is easily the largest of the castes. Extremely rare, without the gestalt of the hive mind, the queen’s mind is essentially nonexistent, for she exists for one purpose only: to mate. The final section of her body may swell up to over four meters in length as it pulsates disturbingly with the creation of new life. Often, she is attended by dozens of males, who provide her with food, clean her, and mate with her.

Society & Culture

With their enormous hive minds, coming together from the many individual minds, individuality is a barely known concept to the Kth’k’k’kt, and is a thing to be avoided. All is for the hive. Instead of between individuals, then, it is the hive that forms the basic unit of Kth’k’k’kt society. A complex network of alliances and rivalries between the hives defines the society, each competing with the others to become their own dream of the ‘most successful’ hive. From time to time, individuals may be assimilated by other hives, traded for genetic root stock, or taken in from a failed hive. This is a long process, with some trauma to the individual, as until the hormones that regulate their ability to access the gestalt respond to those of the new hive, they are cut off from the new hive mind that surrounds them.

It is from these competition and trades that the artistry of the hives arises, and through their attempts to communicate with each other at a deeper level than is possible through simple language. Garish and bizaare to human eyes, the art of the Kth’k’k’kt focuses around complex colored patterns, with a certain fondness shown for the hexagon, as it evokes memories of the hive’s life cycle.

Technology

While, in general, hiver technology follows the standard spacer’s track, they are particularly deficient in the computing technologies. As their hive mind provides more than sufficient processing power for the grand majority of tasks that the hives have as yet encountered, there has been no need to develop such things. Instead, the hive gestalt interacts directly with the machinery that surrounds it, designed and built to respond to the spectrum of the hive. Because of this, it is difficult in the extreme for individual objects to be used by a second hive without significant retooling.

Because of the limited effective range of the gestalt conciousness, Hiver ships are generally built to carry hundreds, if not thousands of crew members, in crowded conditions that would drive members of species with ideas such as individuality and personal space quite mad.

Relations With Others

As the Kth’k’k’kt are unable to comprehend the idea of the individual, the Kth’k’k’kt have a tendency to treat all aliens that look alike as if they are part of the same mind-gestalt. This leads to bizaare complications of contracts and trades, when they mistake one brown-haired, brown-eyed human for representing all brown-haired, brown-eyed humans. It is common for a hive to feel slighted or cheated by aliens that do not cooperate according to their perception of the ‘hive’ that the alien belongs to, and more than one conflict has broken out in result on each side. They are also notorious for delivering goods to the wrong individual, another flashpoint in often tense relationships with the hives.

These people could exist on a world with mythical elves, as they are not another race… they are humans. They are an ethnic group that is far removed from “normal” human stock. They have many traits (physical and cultural) that make them very different. Given Lyran culture and ways, if the Lyrans “went away”, a few hundred years later people would think of Lyrans the same way as we think of Elves… some strange mythical peoples.

Full Description
Lyrans are Human. They have the same stats and basic abilities. In appearance, Lyrans are distinct. They are of a very thin build. Their skin is dusky, and with sun it develops a golden mediterranean tan. Their hair color is variable, but blond is the most common. Their eyes are large and more almond shape than known people. Add high cheekbones and the effect can be quite exotic. They do not have pointed ears, they have round ears, though a touch smaller than most people.

The Lyrans come from some land to “The West”. You can detail this out if you need to. They come to the known lands by fantastic flying ships. These ships use sails, balloons, and a touch of magic to travel the air. This is how they come to the known lands. This only enhances their mystery, as no one else has these marvelous crafts.

This also means that no one knows much about their homeland.

History
Long ago, the Lyrans experienced a magical disaster. (It might of effected the rest of the world, if you want to have a minor cataclysm). Thus, while their society has a great deal of magical knowledge (Lyran education includes cantrips), their items are based on non-magical science. Magic is only used as a short-cut, as an aid to make things easier. It is never, ever used as a requirement for something, just in case another disaster and magic goes away.

Lyrans have more magic, via Clark‘s Law. They have a technology equal to the 1890s to 1900s. (This makes them much more advanced than people give our great grand parents credit for.) Thus they produce wonders when viewed by the medieval technology of most fantasy known worlds, without their magic. Add some magics and it appears very impressive.

Lyrans have wizards of course, but they are not as common in their population. They use a system of magic similar to the known one, but more effective. So a fireburst spell which takes four segments to cast and does 2d6, would be done by two segments and do 2d6+2. They have had centuries to refine their spells, and compensate for the messed up magic of their lands.

They have used that technology in more interesting ways, yet at all times keeping in mind the Lyran Mother, the planet in mind. Their society is ecologically minded. (Perhaps related to the magical disaster?). This makes these happy, well balanced people, havereverencence for nature and beauty. So a Lyran building would have an atrium. A Lyran office would have plants and a water feature.

.... So where should we go from here? All of these vauge ideas need to be expanded upon. Am I missing some ramification of these points?

Let me just say I HATE DROW. The DnD anti-elves really annoy the heck out of me. They are annoying two hit die monsters. They have become hugely popular because of some well written DnD fiction books. Yet, they don’t make sense. So lets try again.

The Nekron are one of the most disturbing humanoid races. In height, weight, and build, they are somewhere between Human and Elf (classic fantasy Elf). There fingers are long and delicate. Their ears are small and somewhat pointed. This is not what makes them disturbing. It is their other features.

Their skin is ashen white and nearly translucent. One can almost see their organs and bones beneath. In a bright light you can. Their eyes have no iris or pupil. They are a solid milky white. They can see in near total darkness (and see heat). While their skin is smooth, it is very dry.

Their faces would be quite comely, if they had noses. It is if their noses are partially cut off, or like a corpse who’s nose retracts as it desiccates. There is a slight ridge and two slits there. Some of the females have very, very petite noses, but that is a rare trait.

They have slightly elongated canines as well.

Their hair ranges from white to black, with various shades of steel grey in between.

Their bodies are cool to the touch. While not room temperature, they are many degrees below Human and Elven norms.

Their voices have an odd vibrato. It could be musical, in a way. But it is off. Like they should not be using their voices.

In terms of society…
They live underground or in windowless buildings. They are not fond of the sun. Prolonged exposure to the sun and the heat of the day is tiring at best, painful at worst. They will often cover their eyes with gauze when travelling outside during the day.

Their society is rigid and orderly. Their system of laws is legendary. It is complex and inflexible, but it covers every possible situation.

There word is more than their bond, it is their life. However, they will only stick to the letter of their word, not the intent.

They are people based on law and letters, not feelings and morals. They do not have friends, they have people they transact personal elements with. You don’t do things for your friends. You do things for people who will do things for you (or have done them in the past).

The Nekron came from somewhere else and are not sure how they got to this cursedly bright and warm place. The world above is like a hell to them.

When looking for an Orc substitute in a campaign, one should think about just a violent ethnic group of people. Huns, Goths, Visigoths, Franks, and Mongols, have all the same campaign effect of Orcs and other “monster races” that fight in large groups/ hordes. And it has the added bonus of people not being able take the moral high ground when they kill an intelligent being… because it is a people… not just a worthless Orc.

When looking for an Orc substitute in a campaign, one should think about just a violent ethnic group of people. Huns, Goths, Visigoths, Franks, and Mongols, have all the same campaign effect of Orcs and other “monster races” that fight in large groups/ hordes. And it has the added bonus of people not being able take the moral high ground when they kill an intelligent being… because it is a people… not just a worthless Orc.

One such substitute group I have been using already is the Orcen. You will find the name in a number of posts. Most notably The Shield District. When you see the name, you can substitute a para-human race, like Orcs or apply a warrior culture like the Mongols.

The Orcen are a semi-nomadic Human people that ride and walk across a vast plain - The Marches. Being semi-nomadic, they have a base camp, a hearth, where much of the tribe stays. The rest travel around their “range” herding horses and bison. They live in hide tents of remarkable warmth and durability, with permanent tents at their tribal base camp, having both a teepee and a yert for winter living.

Each Tribe (50 to 150 people) is a combination of one to three clans who share a common totem spirit animal. They follow a Shamanistic religion, worshiping their animal ancestor spirit, ancestors, and spirits of various crafts (riding, hunting, herding, making…). A charismatic leader appears from time to time unifying several tribes under the title of Horde. These Hordes are often led against other Orcen Hordes or more civilized targets. The Orcen not involved are used to being mercenaries for either side (after all they can earn gold and experience in battle, rather than being a mouth to feed AND just riding around after the herds).

Higher ranked Orcen have horses and are experts at riding them. Lower ranked warriors or herder might borrow a horse from the string of the higher ranked Orcen they serve. Even lower ranked Orcen are still better horsemen than most civilized riders.

The Sign of an Orcen Warrior is a shield. This comes from a quote, “Anything can be a weapon, but a shield is a shield”. The Orcen Shield is a mid sized circular affair of beaten metal and stiff hide. The size is 1.3x the length of the warrior’s arm. It is sometimes painted, but the paint never lasts long on the metal, so most of the time it is just a gleeming silver. The shield is an Orcen warriors best friend, not only does it protect him… but it can be thrown as a weapon, bashed with as a weapon, used as a sunshade, and cooked with.

Physically Orcen are distinctive. They are a large square bunch. They are short with wide shoulders and broad chests. Their compact build gives them great strength and a low center of balance. Their facial features are also distinctive. Their head shape is similar, leading to roundish or even squarish shapes. They tend towards square jaws and wear their hair in a short spiky flat topped cut lending to the square appearance. Their noses are wide and broad. Their eyes tend to be brown, but other colors have snuck in from taken brides.Nominally they are a “lifeform”. They could just be another society.

In terms of clothing, they wear tanned hide breeches and jerkins.

More to come. But if you have any ideas and comments… feel free to post them.

The Sundar family name was one spoken with honor and reverence. None were ever spoke ill of, and should a question arise of their honor and integrity it was quickly set right by those who knew them. Now they are a fallen noble family of disgraced knights who are fearless, emotionless, and uncaring for anything other than own survival and vengence.

History:
The Sundar family name was one spoken with honor and reverence. None were ever spoke ill of, and should a question arise of their honor and integrity it was quickly set right by those who knew them. The family never stepped in on incidents such as this, never fearing for their family name or honor as it was a pure as fresh snow. The family Sundar was well known throughout the kingdoms of old, having the finest Lord Knights who were respected by even their commoners as they took their account into their duties. When the call to arms was raised, the Knights of Sundar raised their banners and rode with all haste to the defense of their lands and king long before others. All in all, there were five hundred knights anointed by the Sundar family, and each one wore their family crest with honor. They were skilled in horsemanship and war craft, but only in the defense of their peoples. Lords from around the kingdoms sent their squires and young knights to attend them in their homes and in their lands for tutelage in the ways of lordship, knight ship, and etiquette. It was a great honor indeed when the king sent his own sons to the lands of Sundar to train with the best of his honor knights.

Many enemies were made by the knights of Sundar, which they apologized greatly for this. They knew that certain outlying countries did not like them or their family, both for their skill on the battlefield and for their name as it was thrust into their faces when possible about how the Sundar family were non-corruptible. This changed eventually, and it was not a subtle event but one that crashed down on the heads of those who held them in such high regard.

When the kings’ sons came to the lands of Sundar they were instructed to listen and obey the lords and masters there, regardless of the fact that they were princes to the kingdom, they must still show respect for their teachers. But they had other plans, as did the enemies of the Sundar family. It is not really clear as to the entire events of what transpired when the princes arrived as history has laid blame on the once honored family for responsibility of what transpired.

The clear thing known is that the princes were murdered while under the care of the Knights of Sundar. The little bit that has been uncovered is that the princes had an affair with Duke Sundar’s wife and that they were both summarily executed for their actions. Pleas from their father the king fell on deaf ears as his two sons were slaughtered in the way of adulterers in the land of the King. Slit from foot to face and hip to hip and forced to watch each other as their insides fell out from their own brother while theirs did the same. Because of their actions, all of the Sundar family was summarily hunted down for their rash acts against the flesh of the king. Murdering his sons and not consulting their king for options was beyond him. He sought retribution and demanded the price be the entire Sundar family line. They were hunted down by friends and foes alike; everyone took up the king’s call to arms against the fallen family.

No one was spared that was found. No age was safe and no lineage was protected. Babe or grandmother, squire or duke; all were hunted down to near extinction. According to the historical records they were hunted down till their name was just a whisper on the wind of time. The Sundar family lands were seized by the king and given to those who sought the vengeance of the king personally. Many new families were raised when the smoke cleared and the Sundar family was no more.

The truth is only known to those accused, and of course no one is listening to them. The boys were not murdered by the Sundar family; they were not murdered at all. The eldest, wishing to break free from his fathers’ heavy fisted rule over the family sought alternatives. He contacted outside help and had his brother taken, with the intent of holding them for a fortune in ransom and taking the money and having their own life. But when those they contacted knew who and what they had, plans changed. The youngest brother was killed and dropped off on the steps of the kings very own palace; while a note led him to believe that the Sundar had murdered both his sons and that his eldest was sent as a sign of respect.

The king did just what they expected him to do, he sought vengeance. He sent every knight he had under his command and called to all his vassals to hunt down the Sundar family. When no more profit was in for the other son, he was also murdered and dropped at the feet of the king by one of his closest vassals with tales of horror at what they had found at the hands of the Sundar family. What history failed to dictate is that the Sundar family was not destroyed to the last but survived by at least half. They fled to the outlying mountains and took stock of their new world.

The women and children were sent throughout the kingdoms to live new lives, and help their men in times of need. Their sons were sent to them at their training age so that they might join the ranks of their fathers. The women were later married to rich merchants and nobles alike to infiltrate the lost Sundar family into the bloodlines of those who brought about steel and ash into their lives. The sons of these marriages were sent to their mothers families for half the year to be close to their family, but they were sent to train with their fallen kin to wait in the shadows and rise up when the time deserved to unseat their unjust rulers. And indeed they did.

Multiple generations passed and the heads of the forgotten family of Sundar began working their trade. They began hiring out their skills in the dark of night to those who wished certain individuals were taken care of. When their skill and talents at removing nobles in line of succession to the crown was no longer a secret they began hunting in earnest, but for a cost. While they took the coin of those that hired them to kill the nobles and the rich, they did so out of pleasure than profit. The coins supplied their vast family with continued funds.

Over three kingdoms they waged this silent war against the rich and powerful, anyone who hired them to remove a successor was given the satisfaction that they would be one step closer with the death of a rival. But this came at a price as well. While these deaths were common place they were widespread and not isolated so a pattern was never found. But anyone who was responsible for the family of Sundar to come under the sword was a mark. One could hire their services today to kill a cousin, only to be killed themselves a month or two later by an uncle or brother. No one was safe from their wrath, and they were paid for doing it by the very people they killed and loathed.

They continue this practice to this day, nearly two centuries later. They have not made it into a mass spree of genocide and murder off entire families as theirs was done but they take each family apart a member at a time, for a hearty price. They will never take a job that will murder a member of their own blood; instead they will kidnap them and bring them into their service. If they will not join the darkened light as they call it, they are claimed to not be of enough of a bloodline of the Sundar and are put to death with no remorse. They will also never accept a mark that is too young; children are never taken as a mark regardless of cost. However, they will sometimes accept a charge only to wait three or four years to have them removed when they are of acceptable age.

Description:
The once honorable Sundar family has gone into hiding after their denouncement of title and honor. They have gone into the shadows and have infiltrated many noble families in the past two centuries of their supposed annihilation. They have put down the bright sword of honor and taken up the dark blade of revenge and vengeance. Their skill in warfare has led them to great success in murdering all the families involved in their downfall. While they were once paid homage for their honor, integrity, and skill; they are now paid coins and a feared respect for their brutal services.

They were founded by the surviving members of the Sundar family, sent into hiding or fall to the relentless blades of their enemies. Ever vassal of the king took up his call to lay waste to the family of Sundar and their once ethical and code of honor was shattered in this murderous venture of the same king they once protected with their lives without question. This is what turned them more so than their enemies attacking them, that they could respect on a military front, however, their beloved king raising his war banner and marching on their lands with the intent of murdering every last one. That was the eclipse that darkened their sky.

They had bid their time and had their men hide in the mountains and endless plains while their women set up shelter and homes for them with their funds that they could steal away. They had no friends they could trust so they totally stepped away from the world. They darkened and changed; murderous rage was born in them and grew until they could take it any longer. They began taking an interest in paying justice as it was due and sought ways to undermine those who murdered them. The Sundered was then born from the ashes of blade and fire.

They have changed their family name to that of a guild of silent slayers of the night, the Sundered, and they use their new found respect as a fear tactic to hold against their contacts and potential marks and enemies. A few have gone the wiser and tried to find their base of operations but were summarily killed and sent back home with silvered coins embedded in their eye sockets as well as the flesh of their hands, to pay the toll to the Sundered is all any notes ever say. Few try to find them after seeing such a message.

They have hidden well throughout the decades of their existence, and only have really begun as the Sundered in the last six to seven decades. Instead they have used the century before to infiltrate the bloodlines they needed to begin their twisting vengeance. They have vowed not to stop until their entire bloodline has filled the ranks of all the nobles of the kingdoms and the Sundar family can be reborn and their honor is restored. Until then, they must cleanse the dark stain on their honor with bloodletting and sorrow.

They are contacted in various ways; no two towns or cities are alike. They pay messengers to bring messages to other messengers, and so on to try and hide the path back to them. It could be a day to a month before a message actually gets to someone who can act on it and a reply can be sent. They take great pains to hide their actual existence and do not even tell their marks whom they really are in fear of someone getting to them before their last breath is taken.

While their physical numbers of their bloodline is now back in the thousands, they only count those who are actively involved in the bloodletting and murderous ways. Most who can handle the knowledge know of their true purpose and while they help in furthering this ultimate agenda, they only have a minor hand involved and most do not count to the total number of members of the Sundered.

They are fearless, emotionless, and uncaring anymore other than survival and revenge.

They see the end that justifies the means. They are the way they are until they can enact their revenge and then return their family name back to its original honor. Not allowing the truth to come out of who they were transformed into in the process. A skeleton in the closet for the future so to speak. Of course how do you define an honorable family who was tortured, murdered, hunted down for pleasure, and had the very man whom they protected with life and loyalty turn his back on them unconditionally?

I have finally tracked down the lair of the troll that I was told about by the green-feathered Aver I encountered last week. The troll is apparently not present, as the foul-smelling recess in the ground is devoid of anything but rubbish, bones, and noisome troll dung. I have heard rumors of these creatures, but in the name of the Lord of Knowledge I am seeking to confirm the rumors of their loathsome appearance and unnatural ability to recover from even the most grievous of wounds. Having heard that these beasts fear the flame, I have taken the time to rig a fire-ring trap around the beast’s den, to entrap it when it returns. I am now waiting in the boughs of a sturdy blood oak for the beast to make an appearance.

It is later in the day; the troll has returned, although I have yet to spring my trap. I must describe this foul thing; the sheer hideousness of it compels me to record it lest I doubt my own eyes. It follows the rough shape of the Mortal Races, with two limbs above and below, and a head of sorts, all attached to the bulky body. The resemblance to any of the true races ends there, I fear. The beast’s skin is a bright, putrescent green hue overall, with mottled patches both darker and lighter, but it is no smooth or scaled hide; growths with the appearance of horrid tumors swell from the skin, their surfaces mostly green but ranging into the pallid pink of an ill human, or veined with the myriad shades of the goblins. Worse are the crude growths that might be scales, were they not so massive and jutting that they can, in truth, only be called horns, thrusting out from the beast’s hide in strange places and bizarre angles. It walks as if its bones have been broken and left to heal without being set many a time, a misshapen and lumpy movement that belies how swiftly it covered the ground across the clearing to the den, dragging a mangled animal carcass behind it. From what I can see, it has three eyes, rather than the two of normal and wholesome races, but one is blind, milky in hue, while another blinks in the skull above it. It has no true nose, merely a foul opening in the face from which some ichor leaks, and the beast’s mouth is a horrid mismatching of crooked fangs and slaver when it looks up from tearing at the carcass. Sometimes it merely buries itself in the meat, and sometimes it uses the claws adorning what pass for hands to rip portions free, or to hold a bone while it gnaws at it. Soon I will trip my trap and try to inspect the beast more closely.

I fear this is the final entry I will ever make; curse me for a fool for ever daring to look for a troll! Forgive my shaky hand, reader; I am wracked by such pain that it makes it hard to focus at all. The beast was put off for a moment by the flames of my trap, but then bounded through it when it saw me moving in the tree, climbing swiftly by the claws it has on each limb. I was swiftly overwhelmed, for the creature seems not to feel pain, and even the goblin shockprod that served me against so many other beasts failed me; any wounds I dealt the monster healed as I watched, and even the limb I broke became whole again, although with a new crook to it. Eventually it bore me to the ground and broke my legs, then dragged me through the flames; I feared it would kill me, or begin to devour me still-living. Would that it had, now. The monster sits, replete with the meal from before, preventing me from escape even if my legs were whole; and soon there will be even less chance of escape for me, as I now know how these creatures spread. It tore a strip of my leg open, and to my revulsion tore a piece of itself free and shoved it into my injury; the pain almost instantly became more than I could bear, and I realized that I could feel it, after a fashion - it had fused to my leg’s internal meat. Now it spreads with the same sick speed of the troll’s healing injuries, and much of my lower body is the same twisted and cancerous mess as the troll; I can only dimly feel those limbs, but I can track where this cancer grows by the searing pain within me. Soon, it will be spreading up from my chest into my neck and head, and I fear I will

(In a different hand)

This journal, filth-stained, was recovered from the lair of a pair of trolls in the Scarlet Grove by the guards of a steam-wagon train after killing the creatures and putting them to the torch. One of the creatures was clad in the tattered remnants of a traveling scholar’s garments, and one finger proved to have a signet ring of the High Temple of Muriken, Lord of Knowledge. It is surmised that this beast is the troll resulting from the journal’s author; may his soul rest, as his research has been recovered and archived properly. By the hand of Adael Gleser, 21st day of the Beetle, Year 203 M.R.

Additional Information

Kuramen’s trolls originated from a spell gone awry; a wizard, researching ways to improve the ability to heal, reached too far and attempted to tap the primal energy of the Great Mother, infusing herself in the backlash radius with so much raw vitality that her cellular regeneration went mad, a runaway cancer that overwhelmed her mind and original shape as one of the lizardfolk, with nothing but the sharp teeth and claws of her people left to indicate her origin.

-Trolls spread when scraps of their flesh are introduced into the flesh of other things, be they living or dead; a corpse will quickly become a live troll, while a living person will, over the course of a few days, be twisted into a monstrous parody of what they were; the basic shape will remain the same, but a troll is generally horrifically disfigured from the base stock. Damaged organs are healed, but malfunctioning ones are simply replaced; trolls with multiple eyes, most blinded in some fashion, are relatively common.
-Trolls have no centralized nervous system. The entire creature is self-sufficient and dimly aware on a cellular level; a troll’s heart, removed, will continue to beat until it runs out of energy to drive it, and decapitating a troll merely blinds the body and leaves you with a head flopping around and trying to bite you.
-Trolls are wary of flame, but do not fear it; fire and acid burns take longer to heal due to the scarring, but unless a troll is reduced to ash or sealed away to starve to death, no injuries are truly permanent.
-Trollish regeneration is such that broken bones will heal in whatever shape the break leaves them in; despite this, their constitution is such that the body adapts to these deformities, scarcely slowing them down. Likewise, often an injury will provoke strange new growths; many a troll has passable spines jutting upward from their scars.
-Trollish metabolisms are sickeningly fast; they require roughly their own weight in biomass, preferably meat, every few days; a troll deprived of this will begin to waste away with astonishing speed as the body devours itself. Most dead trolls are those which depleted the area of food and failed to move on in time, leaving a mummified and deformed skeleton with loosely sagging skin clinging to it. Most trolls will die of starvation within a week.
-Likewise, trolls require a tremendous about of fluid to sustain themselves; a troll without drinking water will die of dehydration within 48 hours in a hospitable climate. For this reason, few trolls ever wander into the world’s desert regions.

Dealing with Trolls
-The two best methods for dealing with a troll are to either be faster than it - capable with a good mount - or too tough for it to harm - such as the armored steam-wagon trains that wind between settlements. Most of these wagon trains have a few specially outfitted guards who wear steam-driven suits of heavy armor and bear weapons that can produce sufficiently hot flame to incinerate a troll.
-Piercing weapons are effectively useless against a troll; the wound often seal around the weapon, doing little more than weighting the creature down a bit. That said, some settlements have effectively defeated trolls by shooting them with so many arrows and quarrels that they can no long move, then leaving them to starve to death before retrieving their weapons.
-Bludgeoning weapons are effectively useless against a troll; even staving in their skulls has no real effect on these creatures behind probably blinding them until they regenerate. Sufficiently strong bludgeoning can do significant damage, of course, ripping loose the troll’s parts and pounding them into an organic mush; they can recover even from this state, however.
-Hacking and slashing weapons tend to be the most effective basic weaponry to use against a troll, as severing parts and leaving them too distant to reattach is one of the best ways to deplete a troll’s recuperative ability. Even this tends to be insufficient, however.
-Incineration and acid are, in truth, the most effective ways to kill a troll; even they cannot renegerate if reduced to ash or a structureless puddle of organic sludge.
-Intense cold can seriously harm a troll, disrupting the cellular structure as ice crystals form, but unless the creature starves in this state, it will recover as soon as it warms up again.
-Trollflesh will infest any organic substance if left in prolonged contact; some nations are known to keep a cative troll which they use to infuse wooden arrowheads with trollish flesh; even one of these arrows striking an enemy can be decimating, if not dealt with promptly, as the victim will begin to undergo the transformation into a troll, necessitating that they be killed before they decimate the ranks of the army they were formerly allied with.
-Rumors persist of alchemical solutions which can halt the spread of tollish cancer within a person, if taken regularly; those undergoing such a regimen do not gain the trollish regenerative ability, but retain their individuality and intelligence (unless the head has been consumed by the cancer, but then the beast isn’t bright enough to take the solutions in the first place).

Introduction

The Urac-Ar, which translates (very loosely) as the People, are amongst the most misunderstood of all the sentient races. Often considered brutish, barbaric, or inherently evil (if such a thing is even possible), the Urac-Ar are in fact highly evolved social creatures with a complex moral code ingrained into their very psyche.

In fact it is only that their psyche, and therefore the thought processes derived from it, is so fundamentally alien to the human mindset that causes much of the conflict between the two races. Simply put, neither species truly understands the other, which makes peaceful coexistence problematical at best.

General Description

Urac-Ar have two arms, two legs and one head, but there any resemblance to the humanoid races ends.

The skin has a rough scaly look and varies in colour from yellow to dark green, with a range of shades in between. Contrary to popular belief these colour variations do not denote separate sub-species, although they are regional in nature with yellows being more prominent in mountain clans and greens being more common amongst the forest tribes.

The head has a decidedly reptilian look, with a short blunt snout and vertical slit eyes. In addition the Oro-Ca have bony ridges over the tops of the heads where the skull plates meet.

The feet have only three toes although they are capable of gripping, lacking only an opposing digit, while the hands have three fingers and an opposing thumb.

Society and Culture

The Urac-Ar are colony creatures, similar to bees or ants, but with much smaller family groups (typically about 20-30 individuals). However, like all culture forming sentient species, they also have extended clan and tribal relationships beyond the immediate family group. Normally, although by no means exclusively, based around close family ties (mothers, daughters, sisters, cousins, etc) between Or-oo.

The structure of Urac-Ar society is in fact fairly close to the human extended family concept but with one or two fundamental differences, which go a long way to explaining some of their apparently more bizarre behaviour patterns.

Firstly Urac-Ar society is actually matriarchal, being led by the Or-oo mother-queens and not the larger and more aggressive Oro-Ca as human observers often assume.

Secondly, and probably more importantly, the Urac-Ar have something of a hive mentality. To them the individual (with the one exception of the Or-oo) is less important than the family group, which goes a long way to explaining some of their unpredictability.

Urac-Ar Castes

Or-oo

(mother or thinker - these two concepts are virtually interchangeable to the Urac-Ar)

Rarely seen outside the clan home Or-oo are virtually unknown to the hominid races, which goes a long way to explaining why humans so misunderstand the Urac-Ar.

A clan will only ever have one Or-oo who is, quite literally, mother as well as leader to them all, although there may also be infant Or-oo who have not yet reached adolescence.

An average Or-oo stands around 5½ feet tall and is generally somewhat rotund (to the Urac-Ar the mark of female beauty is a good layer of fat).

Or-oo are highly intelligent (by no means god-like, but certainly at the upper end of the normal human range), something most humans do not expect (this is one of the main reason humans fair so badly when raiding Urac-Ar strongholds).

Oro-Ca

(literally "mother who is male")

A clan will normally have between one and three Oro-Ca who are husband-consorts to the Or-oo as will as clan defenders, although again there may also be infant Oro-Ca who have not yet reached maturity.

The average Oro-Ca stands over 6 feet tall, with the kind of heavy bone structure and bulging muscles that would make a body builder proud.

Although certainly sentient, the Or-oo are not particularly clever (to the low end of human range at best, and usually somewhat lower) so they tend to rely more on emotion and instinct rather than planning and intelligence.

Basically pre-programmed as fighters, Oro-Ca display a kind of animal cunning in combat that makes them very dangerous.

Outside of combat Oro-Ca can perform only the simplest of tasks, such as heavy lifting or carrying things, but are virtually useless for anything more complex. The one exception being hunting, which they are extremely good at.

Go-ob-Lyn

(worker or daughter - again these two concepts are more or less interchangeable)

A clan will typically have between 20 and 25 Go-ob-Lyn, all of whom are the progeny of the Or-oo. All are genetically female but lack reproductive organs of any kind.

Standing about 4 feet tall with relatively weak bone and muscle structures the Go-ob-Lyn are not suited to combat, which perhaps explains their tendency to run from all but the weakest of foes.

Go-ob-Lyn are more intelligent than Oro-Ca but not by much. However, although they lack the intelligence to be inventive, they are ably to learn relatively complex tasks and carry them out with a reasonable level of competence. As such Go-ob-Lyn form the basic workforce for Urac-Ar society (farming, mining, building, manufacturing, etc).

Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn

(literally "clever worker")

Around 15%-20% of Go-ob-Lyn are hatched with near human intelligence level, so most clans will have three or four such individuals.

These Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn are normally trained either as crafters or as leaders for their less intelligent sisters. Apart from the increased intelligence they are identical to normal Go-ob-Lyn.

Urac-Ar Life Cycle

To the Urac-Ar procreation is quite a complex subject, not least because there are two distinctly separate processes involved, one for producing Or-oo and Oro-Ca offspring and another for producing Go-ob-Lyn and Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn daughters.

Go-ob-Lyn and Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn

Each year, in early spring, an Or-oo lays a clutch of 2-4 eggs, about 4 inches long with tough leathery shells (much like lizard eggs), which will hatch about 4-5 weeks later. She does not have to have mated to produce these eggs.

The young Go-ob-Lyn develop remarkably quickly. They can walk within a week, speak within a month (although the language is, and will always remain, rudimentary), and reach full maturity in six months. However they also age quickly, typically living for only five or six years.

Occasionally a young Go-ob-Lyn will develop much more slowly. These are the Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn. Initial growth is the same (walking in a week and rudimentary speech within a month), but then physical development slows down considerable in favour of intelligence. The young Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn takes about two years to mature fully and can expect to live for around fifteen years.

Or-oo and Oro-Ca

In late spring an Or-oo may also fall pregnant, for which she must have mated. This happens only about one year in four, mainly because Oro-Ca fertility is quite low (one of the reasons an Or-oo normally keeps two or three Oro-Ca around). The pregnancy lasts for about six months resulting in a single live birth in mid to late autumn, although about one in ten will miscarry before that.

About one in six of these infants are female (Or-oo) and the remainder are male (Oro-Ca). In either case the infant takes ten years to reach maturity and can expect to live for around fifty years.

Loners and Small Groups

Adolescent Or-oo

When an Or-oo reaches maturity she will seek two or three good strong Oro-Ca with which to set up a home of her own, normally with the help and advice of her mother. During this period she will generally stay as a guest in her mother’s home.

She will venture out only to look for potential mates, usually with her father (somewhat surprising Oro-Ca seem able to identify their own progeny, how they can do this is unclear) and normally with two or three Go-ob-Lyn (who are or course her sisters) as protectors. As a result lone Or-oo are extremely rare indeed and almost never encountered.

In general she will seek the lowest number of mates she can since Oro-Ca are always difficult to control. If she can get away with one really good one she will, and this is the norm in more settled areas where she has little need of protection. In more dangerous areas (such as close to hostile human territory) two or three is more common.

It is important to note here that even in the most dangerous areas no Or-oo has ever been known to take more than three mates, they are simple far too much trouble for that. Since five Oro-Ca are born for every Or-oo this provokes considerable competition amongst the bachelor males. It is not entirely clear how she makes her choice, although the Oro-Ca certainly believe that combat prowess plays a part (which explains the increase in Oro-Ca raiding activity whenever an Or-oo is known to be seeking mates).

Bachelor Oro-Ca

When Oro-Ca reach physical (and more to the point sexual) maturity they become far to disruptive to remain within their mothers’ home and are therefore expected to leave and find their own way in the world. These bachelor males tend to congregate into small gangs, partially for survival but mostly because they are, like all Urac-Ar, basically social creatures who need the company of their own kind.

Oro-Ca gangs can be extremely dangerous if provoked but, despite their brutish reputation, will rarely attack without cause. In fact, apart from raiding farms for easy meat (domesticated sheep are just too easy to catch) they rarely come into contact with human settlements at all.

The one exception to this is when an adolescent Or-oo is seeking a couple of lads to take as her consorts. During such times bachelor Oro-Ca take to raiding for trophies as a way of impressing her with their combat prowess, and therefore their ability to protect her and her progeny.

It is interesting to note here that the type, or indeed intrinsic value, of such trophies is of little importance, only that they are difficult to obtain. Thus a love-struck Oro-Ca is just as likely to steal a child’s teddy bear as a valuable painting since, from his viewpoint, both are just as valuable (you have to fight loads of humans just to get close enough). Similarly a freshly severed wyvern head or a couple of velociraptor eggs is just as impressive as a magic sword stolen from the temple armoury.

Orphaned Go-ob-Lyn

When an Or-oo dies the first thing her Go-ob-Lyn and Hobb-Go-ob-Lyn daughters do is drive any Oro-Ca from the family home since, without an Or-oo consort to control them, they are simply too dangerous to have around.

The orphaned Go-ob-Lyn will then continue living their lives as before until they all eventually die of old age since no other Or-oo will take them in, although sister or daughter Or-oo of their mother may well provide some assistance.

Basic Ideas:
-For the most part, they exist in a barbaric state, like the usual Orcs, living in tribes with Stone Age technology. However, unlike usual Orcs, they are not an inferior race in any fashion. They have all the intelligence of humans, with more strength and speed, but their minds are “locked” in a strange way that prevents most of them from ever rising from brutish, animal living.

-Their minds become “unlocked” when they serve a master. Perhaps they were created to serve, or perhaps this is just the way they work. Regardless, they find freedom in service to a worthy (remember that- WORTHY) master. They are humorless, grim, and when they are given a task, they follow it to the bitter end. They follow a master’s orders without question.

-Worthy masters must be like the Urwhor themselves- driven, grim, pitiless towards enemies, yet honorable. Urwhor have a very deep sense of honor. They are also very regimented, even in a barbaric state. They are pitiless and cruel to their enemies (percieved or otherwise), except where their code of honor calls for charity (For instance, they will not slay or even attack an enemy on said enemy’s birthday).

-A large part of their culture is poetry and song. Even in barbaric state, they compose haiku-like poems, songs, and stories.

-They dwell mostly in mountainous and wilderness areas where “civilized” folk have not driven them off. They can also be found in the service of kings, sorcerors, and warlords who they find to be worthy masters.

-Their traditional weapon is a lorwhogw (lore-hwog-wuh), a type of axe. They do not wear armor, instead relying on their tough skin OR scales, and preternatural speed.

-They have an unusual sensitivity to the use of Power (i.e., magic, psychic abilities, supernatural things like that)

-They worship the Ghaharshord, a sort of tribunal or council of gods. I haven’t really envisioned them that well yet.

-I don’t see them as innately evil, just cruel and unyielding to their enemies, who are usually everyone else.

I have well outlined their cultural and mental aspect. But I am torn between to physical aspects.

Option 1- They are emaciated and bony, with splayed feet and hands. They have flat, animal faces and spiky, stiff hair that is similar to quills. Their skin is a sallow yellow color and is leathery, rough, and dry.

Option 2- They are strange reptomammals, wide and muscular, with green scaly skin and short tails. They have clawed hands and feet. Their faces are semi-humanoid, but have long, slit-like nostrils, chitinous spiked chins and brows, and a bony, sharp crest on top. They grow silky furry coatings between the scales on their arms and legs.

I need more help with the Urwhor than I did with the Duerga. Anybody care to do another New Look?

In the isolated hills and canyons of the wild lands exists a people feared and hated by humanity. Relentless in battle, feared as murderous cannibals, the race that calls itself the Volgotoi is perhaps the least well understood of the foes of human civilization. Few people have bothered to learn more of the creatures that they call “Ogres”, as the sons of men are content in their ignorance, unwilling to know more of this fearsome race.

Although the various Ogrish subspecies are diverse in their appearance, with numerous regional variations, the Volgotoi are generally similar in size and coloration. They loom almost ten feet in height, with much of their weight carried low in the body. Younger warriors are often massively muscled, but house leaders tend to become paunchy; the most prosperous of them eventually grow quite obese. The skin of these creatures is generally a pale grey, shot through with mauve veins and varicosities. Volgotoi that spend a great deal of time outdoors often tan to a waxy ochre coloration. Their teeth tend to be jagged and uneven, with protruding fangs.

Volgotoi are not a tidy people, as a rule. They tend to regard cleaning as a duty suitable for their few thralls; this disdain for bathing or cleaning up after themselves causes their settlements to become filthy pestholes, cluttered with filth and debris. Those few Volgotoi that have enslaved members of weaker races may not be so disorganized and unclean, but that condition seldom lasts for long: Most Volgotoi are poor slave-keepers and their thralls tend to die or escape soon after capture.

Their distaste for cleaning extends to personal hygiene: For many Volgotoi, personal hygiene is limited to periodically stripping off their filthy clothing and standing disrobed in one of their land’s occasional downpours. Needless to say, in dry seasons they emit a nearly overpowering stench. They are very fortunate that their race is remarkably resistant to disease, seldom suffering from the numerous parasites infesting their lairs.

Female Volgotoi tend to be smaller, with features more similar to those of humanity. It is a mark of pride among the “Ogre Maidens” (the human term) to master the mixing and use of cosmetics; if they choose to fully mask their skin’s grayish color, many of these females can even pass for human (if human women were over eight feet tall). It is not uncommon for these women to be attractive to human eyes, although they themselves do not normally find other races appealing. Because of the physical resemblance to humans, the females tend to serve as envoys between their people and any nearby human settlements.

It is rare, but not unheard of, for Volgotoi to interbreed with smaller races. They are not normally attracted to those outside their own race, but may take mates of other races to signify political alliance. These pairings seldom result in children, as the disparity in size makes it difficult for a child to be brought to term. Occasional children of mixed parentage are seen, but their appearances vary wildly: Some appear as shorter Volgotoi, while others are virtually indistinguishable from the non-Volgotoi parent.

Culture of the Volgotoi
The most well-known and feared trait of the Volgotoi is their tendency to hunt and devour members of other races. This behavior is the main reason that they are despised by nearly any people that they encounter, but they are hardly the indiscriminate cannibals the folk tales describe. To one of the Volgotoi, they are honoring their fallen foes when they feast upon their remains. They are symbolically purifying their enemies’ remains, devouring their weakness and sharing their strength.

Volgotoi also eagerly devour the children of their foes, seeing it as hypocrisy to spare the young, only to hunt them when they grow older. This is also seen as a way to honor their victims. The skulls of children who exhibit fortitude or bravery beyond their years are displayed in honor within the filthy lairs of the Volgotoi people.

It is widely believed among the Volgotoi that a warrior that fails to eat his foe’s remains will be haunted by their “weaknesses”, vicious spirits that embody the deceased victim’s failures and inadequacies. These predatory spirits will strike him with the very vulnerabilities that plagued his victims before their death.

The odd religion of the Volgotoi is virtually unknown outside the close-knit family groups of their culture. Although they are not a people given to elaborate piety, many honor a bloodthirsty god named Gora’am. Gora’am is also known by his title, “The Purifier”. This god is said to devour the souls of the weak, spitting them forth afterward to be born again. It is said that at the end of time, he will finally spit forth a race of beings with iron wills, a perfect people without flaws or weaknesses.

The Volgotoi, as a people, do not normally value extreme wit or cunning. They regard treacherous or deceptive behavior as “womanish”, and indeed, many of their women are extremely tricky and shrewd deceivers. Tribal warriors tend to be simpleminded and actually take perverse pride in their lack of subtlety. Those developing cunning schemes and artifices are likely to be dismissed as cowardly and effeminate. In fact, one of the quickest ways for a warrior to demean himself in the eyes of the Volgotoi is to be caught out as a liar.

Women among the Volgotoi tend to be more thoughtful. They value the wisdom of their “Wise Women” and often seek to master magic that will allow them to protect their clan by baffling enemies and making allies. Many are consummate liars and actresses, manipulating friends as easily as enemies. Those dealing with Volgotoi women need to remember whether the larger folk have reason to see them as enemies; they have no qualms about pretending friendship, only to beguile their foe into a trap.

Volgotoi tend not to congregate in large groups. Most settlements of their kind tend to hold one extended family, with a few hangers-on and unrelated friends present. They prefer to live in caves or tunnels underground when possible, but will dwell in massive wooden longhouses in areas where that is not practical. Within the family, the eldest warrior’s word is law, but he will very seldom argue with the dominant female of the family. Much more subtle than the males, the women know how to make any male that crosses them quite miserable.

Although the Volgotoi honor warriors in their culture, they also give honor to artisans of great patience and skill. Families of leatherworkers, armorers, brewers, and cattlemen are found among the leaders of their culture. The Volgotoi do not have a formalized hierarchy or leadership, but informal networks of families exist and cooperate to resolve problems. In times of threats to the people as a whole, a “Great Elder” warrior is chosen to lead. The Great Elder is picked by the acclamation of the warriors present (…generally after they have been told who to pick by the women of their families). This leader, advised by the senior woman of his family, leads the Volgotoi people into battle when needed. They tend to avoid open battle, as the disorganized warriors of the Volgotoi are no match for disciplined soldiers in the field. Instead, they prefer to practice a sort of guerrilla warfare, withdrawing into the hills and badlands where organizing and supporting large military forces becomes impossible. In this rougher terrain, their individual power and bravery is able to balance the scales against more disciplined and resourceful opponents. In battle, their foul reputation becomes an asset, as many foes are demoralized by the thought of being eaten if they should fall.

Encounters with the Volgotoi

The Golden Pilgrims
The Golden Pilgrims of Wing-Chall, an unpopular religious sect, resettled far from the oppression of the local authorities. Unfortunately, the area where the pilgrims chose to place their fledgling colony borders on the rugged lands of the Volgotoi. After several settlers disappear, the party is requested to discover what happened to them. Perhaps the pilgrims have alienated their cannibalistic neighbors, perhaps some other explanation is at fault, but in any case, the party has to tread lightly lest they stir the wrath of the Volgotoi.

The Rampage
After years of relative peace between Volgotoi and the hill folk, something has begun annihilating entire steadings of the Volgotoi, then disappearing into the human lands. The women of the Volgotoi families come to the party to stop this threat before their warriors take matters into their own unsubtle hands.

The Killer
A new Great Elder is rising among the Volgotoi, a powerful warrior guided by his particularly ambitious and subtle mate. She is stirring incidents between Volgotoi and neighboring peoples to create a climate of crisis that will allow her mate to seize power among the area's families and carving an empire in the rugged wasteland.

The Toothache
The Volgotoi seldom suffer from tooth decay, as their jagged, tusk-like fangs are remarkably resistant, but when they do, they are truly miserable. The party is asked to bring a healer to assist a Volgotoi farmer suffering from a painful infection. While they may not want to help heal an enemy of humanity, this farmer is one of the few Volgotoi to eschew the consumption of human flesh. If he is not helped, other Volgotoi will consider him an example of what can go wrong “when you neglect your diet”.

The Cosmetician
An “Ogre Maiden” has gathered a circle of human students, women without families learning the secrets of Volgotoi cosmetics. While she may be acting for their mutual profit, not all the Volgotoi women feel that this is wise. One is plotting to convince the warriors that these young women are enemies, foes that should be eaten before they can steal the families’ secrets.

I was spending some time reading some Rune Quest, Changeling, and Castle Falkenstein material and remembered why I hated most of the Trolls found in the majority of “Psuedo Medival, Eurpoeanesk Fantasies”. So once again, I charged up my rant muscles and….

True Trolls are mighty humanoids related The Fey. They are creatures of Chaos. Their origins come from the same tumbling pseudo void that spawned the various Kith and Kin of Fey creatures. Unlike most of their Kith and Kin, they do not just visit this plane… to just dally with this stuff of matter and space. They were inspired, some say loved, this material world. They took to it like a duck to water. They took their cue from it to define their form. As they spent more time in the material world, they began to take power from it, rather than the rolling void of Fey.

True Trolls are bind themselves to a territory or region. They act as its protectors because in a way they are defending themselves. They draw strength from it as well as the Raw Chaos of the Fey. They will sometime charge travellers to pass their their territories, or challange them to see if they are worthy. After all, everyone let through the region is can effect the True Troll by effecting the region. True Trolls have fey powers. They have the ability to blend into their evironment (superlative camoflage or even invisability), to move through it with no trace (this is beyond mere fieldcraft, they can merge with their environment, passing through it, and with effort appearing anywhere in the environment). They have senses that are total, for they know what is happening in their region. Since they are chaos creatures, they regenerate. Unlike chaos creatures, they can heal any damage eventually… as long as they are part of their environment. For it a True Troll leaves its territory or region, it loses its ability to regenerate and some of its strengths. Eventually it will begin to lose its ability to be material, slowly dying… until it turns to chaos dust and is lost in the wind.

If something changes their environment, it changes them as well… potentially killing them off

There is no typical description for a True Troll, other than they are humanoids that are man-sized or larger. They take their cue from Humanity, but it is only a suggestion for their apperance. Their description is dependent upon their environment. Examples:

1) True Trolls in a Redwood Forest will be larger than even most True Trolls. They will be tall and long, rather than stout and wide. Their skin will be similar to that of bark. Their head hair resembles the ferns that fill the undergrowth, while their body hair the needles of the various trees in the area. Their features like the mushrooms that are present on the forest floor. The Trolls will be longer lived than most Trolls and patient like the sun.

2) True Trolls in an Mountainous Alpine Trail will take its cue from the Stones. Its skin will be that of the local stones (with a hardness to match). Its hair akin to the litchen on the stones. It will be squatter and squarer. It will even be able to roll itself up into a ball and appear as a boulder.

3) True Trolls in an river underbridge will be pale drowned rat appearance. It will have river greens for hair and be flexible to fit inbetween the stones of its bridgge. It will be aquatic as well, for the river is as much a part of its area than its bridge.

4) GrassLand TrueTrolls will look the the humans that live on their plains. Yet their hair will be the color of their golden grass, their eyes the color of the soil. They will be thin, inhumanly so, as they are grass like. They will be able to conceal their size in even short grass, as they can merge with the soil of the plain and appear anywhere.

Trolls are immortal, if they choose to be. If life gets tiring, they will simply merge into their region and go to sleep… forgetting things.. then emerging again some time later as a newer True Troll. While they can be destroyed by force, the chaos dust they turn into simply blows into the wind and finds a new place (or some other part of the same old place) to become material again.

True Trolls are band creatures. There will normally be a group of them in a region, their numbers depending on the size of the region. While they are part of the group, each member acts fairly independent… like a hand of a greater organism. So the discorperation of a single True Troll is not a big deal, as they will just reincorperate later. Yet when their is a threat to the region, the whole band will respond. Since True Trolls are big, strong, and able to use their environment to its fullest, they become a serious threat to armies.

True Trolls might use artifacts of civilization, such as weapons or tools. These items will come from the peoples of their region, rather than booty they have taken from people who were not part of their region (all that will be discarded, with their bones in a garbage pit somewhere). Like all Fey, they do not understand the concept of material possessions, so they will borrow anything they want without regard to ownership. (They expect you to do the same). The only exception is bound items, those things that are nearly part of you. Those are left alone.

Trolls are hunters and meat eaters. Not that they need to eat, they just like hunting and killing things. Eating what you kill is just a sign of respect that what you killed was worth killing. They will kill intelligent beings more often than animals because intelligent things are more interesting to kill and more likely to have done something offensive to the True Troll’s region.

Sometimes new trolls will not fit the place where they come into being. These trolls are questers, they travel to find their new place. This new place becomes their region and they become part of it.

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